When the Ink Refused to Run Dry
by Tsuki Amano
Summary: Deeper and deeper he sank, the water pulling him down to its murky depths. It was over for now. FACE family with a helping of Spamano.
1. Chapter 1

When the Ink Refused to Run Dry

When Arthur Kirkland travelled to Boston in search of a muse, he expected to find it in the form of a French chef. But do the stone walls of St. Botolphs's hide a more sinister secret?

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, if I did…well, for starters, my country would exist in the show.

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><p>Chapter 1: Towards our stage shall we hurry forth<p>

White was the color of purity and innocence. It signified newness and cleanliness, a blanket of virgin snow draped over the brown soil in winter, sweeping across the harsh landscape, like thick fleece. Any object that was seen against this splendid backdrop presented a stark contrast and could easily be considered a miserable impurity. White was the color of fluffy puffs of cotton that hung in the sky, so very close to the brilliant sun. It was the color of the faint wisps that seemed to have been brushed on the azure roof of the world, thinly stretched so high above us all. Wfhite was the color of a bride's gown, clean and elegant, yet radiant and eye-catching in its simplicity. Yet, this was also the color of loss and sorrow, of death and despair. It meant loneliness and emptiness. It was one of the marvels of the world really, how many things a single, simple color could represent. But to Arthur Kirkland, white was a symbol of his frustration.

The blank white pages lay on his lap, their gleaming faces mocking him in the morning light. He let his fingers brush across their crisp edges, wishing he could fill the sheets with his untidy scrawl. Shutting his tired green eyes against the dull ache of hopelessness that washed over him, he sighed. It had been two months since he had been able to churn out anything that wasn't substandard. Oh, of course, he still wrote for the weekly magazines and submitted articles for the newspapers, but his heart wasn't in the matter. He longed to be able to write a novel, to create a world of his own once more. He desired the freedom that came with his creation, the inimitable ecstasy that resulted from inspiration. Glancing at his clean fingertips, Arthur let out another sigh. He could easily remember a time when his fingers had been perpetually stained with ink, when you would have been hard-pressed to not find him with his nose buried in a book and a pen in his hand.

"Those were the days, eh, Flutter old girl? Look what success and the promise of a career have done to us," he remarked idly to a seemingly empty railway carriage. But, the carriage was only empty to those who could not see. Arthur had a gift of being able to see beyond that which was clearly visible. To him, faeries, nymphs, gnomes…these were not creatures that resided on the paper of a story-book, they were real. His first set of novels, entitled, "There's a Fairy in My Tea" had dealt with the life of a young English boy who was cursed with the ability to see magical creatures. The press had called it a work of art, stating that it was, 'one of the finest pieces of modern British fiction of our ages.' Arthur had never bothered to correct the reports' accounts that it was fiction. He was satisfied instead to have reached a level of popularity that he had never imagined possible. Granted, his novels were written under a pseudonym, Arthur could not have asked for more. Writing was his life, it was his passion. As his elder brother Iain used to joke, "Th' lad's got ink fur bluid in his veins."

All around him, the busy crowds of London bustled back and forth, the familiar sounds, sights and smells wafting into the carriage through the windows. Arthur watched as a pretty young lady accompanied by what appeared to be her brother argued in front of a vending machine, a harried woman struggled to manage her laden luggage trolley and four small energetic children, while in the corner, beneath the gleaming chrome clock, a policeman stood reprimanding a pickpocket. The familiarity of the situation warmed his heart; he had after all been living in London for the last five years. But after a second week of his grumbling, Iain had finally grown tired of his bad mood, and had finally snapped at his younger brother, irritated by his annoying habit of ritually tapping the pen against the china tea cups when he was uninspired. The Scotsman had decided that it would be good for everyone if Arthur got out a bit, took a holiday. And so, here he was setting off to Boston which agreeably wasn't all that far off but he looked forward to meeting his old friend Antonio, who would be vacationing there as well for a month or two. Last he had heard, the Spaniard had taken up a job as a historian. He chuckled under his breath at the thought, yes; Antonio had always loved his bit of adventure.

Arthur's musings were cut short as the door to his berth suddenly slid opened violently. He stared at the intruders, the drowsy state he had slipped into was doing very little to help his thought process along. In the doorway stood a young man, who couldn't be more than two years Arthur's senior. There were two small boys, presumably his sons with him, both blond like their father. He held one precariously in his right arm, while the other clutched onto his pant leg. His left arm was preoccupied with carrying three bags, one of which he had slung across his forearm and he had a bulky duffel bag on his back. By the looks of things, he had kicked the door open which certainly provided an explanation for the din.

While Iain had persisted that Arthur had the social etiquette of a garden gnome, he had prided himself in being somewhat of a gentleman. He darted to the unknown man's aid and grabbed two of his suitcases, muttering, "Let me help you with that." As he set them down on the seat opposite to where he had been dozing off before, the man called out to one of his sons, "Alfred, mon chéri, let go of papa please, so I can put Matthieu down." The boy, who seemed to be attached to his leg, Alfred as he was called, released the now slightly crumpled pant and hopped onto the seat, swinging his legs back and forth while humming a tune under his breath. Next, the boy in his arms, 'Matthieu,' was set down beside his brother. Arthur noticed the stuffed bear that he held in his arms. The boy was exhausted and quickly curled up next to Alfred, using his brother as a makeshift pillow, drifting back to sleep almost instantaneously.

Let out a relieved breath, the man wearily raked a hand through his messy blond locks, gracing Arthur with a tired smile. "Merci beaucoup monsieur. Je m'appelle…ah je suis désolé….je ne suis plus en France. My name is Francis Bonnefoy and these two angels are my sons, Alfred and Matthieu. And you are?" Arthur tried to ignore the faint warmth that sparked in his cheeks when Francis fixed him with his warm gaze. The man's eyes were a rich shade of blue, somewhere between cerulean and Prussian, drawing you in and captivating you. He stuck his hand out, "Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you. And…" he added uncomfortably, "for what it's worth, I know some French, so you can go ahead if you need to."

The unmanly squeal he let out was completely justified. One does not expect someone that they have just met to gently take your outstretched hand and then kiss it with an "Enchanté." Arthur snatched his hand back and cradled it near his chest, giving Francis a look that clearly indicated he thought the Frenchman was some sort of psycho. "Bloody hell! What in the devil is wrong with you? If you didn't have children with you, rest assured things would be entirely different." He sat down, resolutely willing the fierce crimson that stained his cheeks away, ignoring the thought of how soft the Frenchman's lips had been and the smile Francis was sending him as he sat down next to his sons, apologizing half-heartedly to the Brit. Arthur fixed his gaze instead on the scenery that they were passing. He watched, entranced as the golden beams of sunlight bounced off the trees, highlighting the brilliant green swatches. He would occasionally catch a glimpse of a few faeries and once or twice he had seen a sprite hovering near the branches. Through the corner of his eye, he noted that Francis had fallen asleep and he loathed admitting that the Frenchman looked rather fetching in his sleep. He hurriedly put such unprofitable thoughts aside, preferring instead to look at his changing surroundings. True, the land was more agricultural than the forest that he had grown up in, but there was a welcome lack of concrete and metal that cheered him up immensely.

Then the trees gave way to a lake and his breath caught in his throat. The sunlight seemed to dance on the crests of the waves, the water appearing like an enormous gleaming bowl of liquid sapphire, alive and breathing. Birds flew past; beating their wings as they gracefully swooped and swerved in various directions. Arthur could already sense the headiness seeping through his every pore, the one that he associated with inspiration. As he nodded off, he realized that he'd have to thank Iain for this later…

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><p>Arthur woke up with a start and glancing out of the window, he realized that they were about ten minutes from Boston. Francis and his family were still fast asleep, obviously more tired than the Frenchman had been willing to let on. The Englishman tried coughing into his hand, clearing his throat and rustling his bags around, but the three remained dead to the world. Reluctantly, he reached out his hand and shook the other's shoulder. Bleary blue eyes peered at him questioningly. "You might want to wake up; we're only about ten minutes from the station. Not that I care or anything." Judging from the warmth in his cheeks, he was sure that he was flushing again but avoided Francis' gaze by putting his things in order, twitching violently when he heard Flutter giggling in the background. But as he watched Francis prepare to once again juggle the entire load, his compassionate side won out. "Where are you staying anyway?" trying and failing to appear nonchalant.<p>

"C'est un hôtel, by the river," Francis said, "I am not too sure…I am…comment vous dites, new to the area?" Arthur racked his brains, the last time he had been here was around seven years ago and back then there hadn't been many hotels and other places to stay. He hoped things hadn't changed too much since his last visit. Fishing out a visiting card from his coat pocket, he asked, "This one?" Francis' blue eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah…oui! Then you are also staying there?"

Nodding he picked up the Frenchman's duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, before picking up his own suitcase and one of Francis' as well. "Yes, I'll be staying there for about a month. Shall I help you with these since we are heading in the same direction?" "There is no limit to the feeling of happiness that my heart feels. I must be truly blessed indeed to have the good fortune of meeting such a kind and handsome man." "Shut…shut up! Don't say such foolish things! Push your luck and I'm off." He scowled angrily as Francis chortled, before hoisting Matthew onto his hip with Alfred clutching his free hand. The railway was loud, crowded but not quite as much as London's busy platforms. The tantalizing aroma of fish and chips wafted over to Arthur and he could feel his mouth beginning to water. Beside him, Francis was trying to keep Alfred in check. The boy's batteries were recharged after his nap and he was now darting about hyperactively, narrowly missing an old man. "Alfred!" scolded Francis, but it was to no avail and the boy was lost in his own make-believe game. As Francis called out to his son again, Arthur noticed that while Francis spoke in French quite freely to Matthew, he tended to use more English when speaking to Alfred. Arthur also noticed that the song that Alfred had been humming under his breath was the Captain America theme, and he mentally reminded himself to ask Francis about it later. But for now, they had other problems on their hands…

Setting aside his suitcases near Francis, he placed a hand on his hip and raised his voice, "Alfred. You stop that instant and march yourself back here right now. Do you hear me young man?" Sheepishly, Alfred walked towards Arthur and after a moment's hesitation; he placed his own pudgy hand in Arthur's. Arthur smirked at Francis' bewildered expression calmly picking up his luggage again before saying, "Shall we carry on then?"

Deciding to stroll down, the four amiably walked past the quaint homes enjoying the late afternoon sun. "Mon Dieu," said Francis, softly so that only Arthur could hear him, "How did you manage that? It's nearly impossible for me." "I have a younger brother myself, who was quite like Alfred at his age. I used to look after him when we were little. I suppose I've become rather accustomed to it." Francis grinned, "Ah Angleterre, you are full of surprises!"

Quirking a thick eyebrow, he asked, "Angleterre?" "Oui, unless you would prefer mon petit lapin instead?" Flushing angrily he sputtered, "What? Certainly not! Now see hear you daft fool…" What exactly Francis was supposed was supposed to see was cut off by Alfred's exclamation. They had reached the Witham and the blue-eyed boy tugged on Arthur's sleeve, "Can we go see the river please?" he asked, using his best, butter wouldn't melt in my mouth expression. Matthew looked interested at the prospect too and before Arthur knew, he was acting as a tour guide and telling the three about the river. He clutched Alfred's hand tightly in his own, Francis holding Matthew safely while the bespectacled boy excitedly told his father that the river was, 'très belle!'

Arthur looked on as Francis kissed his head fondly, when suddenly Alfred interjected, "What's that?" Glancing up, he said, "That's St. Botolph's parish if my memory serves correctly. It's known for its rather interesting architecture and size. You can see the spire from a good distance away." He couldn't help but think that when the Frenchman wasn't trying to be an obnoxious flirt, he actfually made good company, not that he'd ever admit it.

"So, who's that lady at the top?" Alfred pressed on. Arthur followed the direction in which he was pointing at, "I'm afraid I missed it lad. I can't see anyone." "Nonsense Alfred, your mind must be playing tricks on you, you are tired after the journey here. That is all." Arthur flinched at the unusual flint in the man's tone. He tried to defuse the situation, "Perhaps you saw one of the construction workers? The church itself has been closed for renovation, so no one is allowed in unless it's under special circumstances."

"No way!" he said, shaking his head vigorously, "She couldn't have been a construction worker. She was wearing one of those frilly dresses, like the black and white movies!" "Alfred that is enough!" Francis said sharply, "Now, viens! It is late, we have seen the river. Allons à l'hôtel. Je suis certain que monsieur Arthur est fatigue." "But…" "Enough Alfred!"

Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that he was missing out on something. But he was all too familiar with the feeling of people not believing in what he had seen with his own two eyes. He gave the hand clutched in his own a reassuring squeeze and smiled warmly down at him, "I'll tell you what, let's get a last look at old Witham and head of before it gets dark. Tomorrow, maybe we can find out a bit more about the church. How does that sound?"f

Brightening, Alfred beamed at him and returned to making faces at his reflection in the water. While he was sticking out his tongue at the reflection of Matthew, Arthur caught the look of weariness that had settled onto Francis' face. Deciding that it didn't suit him, he rested his free hand on Francis' shoulder. "Chin up then. Give the break eh? Anyway, I don't suppose you would care to join me for tea after? I could murder a cup right now." Laughing, Francis looked back their reflection in the water, "We look like a family, non?" "Eh…I suppose." "Oui, then that makes me le père and you are la mere."

"What? You blasted pervert!" Through their antics, neither of them noticed the curtains at the top of the church slowly move aside, before drawing themselves shut tight once more.

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><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong> St. Botolph's is a real place and so are most of the places mentioned here. The story is more or less based on a photo that was taken here awhile ago. But if there are any glaring inaccuracies, please let me know! I've never been to Britain and I'm working on this story using Google Earth and maps.

Also, Iain is Scotland here, and according to the online translator (that I have a feeling may be wrong), he's saying that the lad has ink for blood in his veins. Feel free to correct any errors in the French as well.

_Merci beaucoup monsieur. Je m'appelle…ah je suis désolé….je ne suis plus en France_.- Thanks a lot sir. My name is..ah…I am sorry, I am no longer in France.

_C'est un hôtel_- It's a hotel.

_Mon petit lapin_-my little rabbit.

_Allons__ à l'hôtel_. Je suis certain que monsieur Arthur est fatigue.- Let's go to the hotel. I am sure that Mr. Arthur is tired.

**Edit**: _The Boston in the story is in the UK, not in America_.

That's about it for now. Hope you all liked this, please do review even if it's a smiley face or you want to correct my attempts at French.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Spirits at my doorstep**

**Disclaimer**: I own absolutely nothing in this, except the rhyme and Flutter.

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><p><em>Jack took Jyll and brought her up the hill,<em>

_To cut out the heart within her._

_What Jack found did lead him to drown,_

_But Jyll did not follow after._

The air outside was still, almost stifling. The sun was dipping below the horizon and bathed the land in a myriad of oranges and fiery reds. Shadows grew longer and stretched thin in the dimming light, leaves rustling in trees as birds returned for the night. It wasn't dark enough for the street lamps to be on just yet, but it soon would be and if you focused on the sky hard enough, you'd be able to see a solitary star, twinkling faintly against the darkening sky.

Glancing at his watch, the young man cursed under his breath as he realized how late he was. He switched the bread over to his other hand before hurriedly fishing his phone out of his pocket to call his most definitely infuriated wife. But a strange noise made his finger pause right over the call button, it was the sound that metal makes when you force it to slide over another piece of metal without oiling it properly, the sound which makes you grit your teeth in aggravation. Lifting his head up, he sought out the offender.

There in the corner of his vision, in a small private garden attached to some hotel by the looks of things was a swing. White or at least, it probably had been at some point, before the paint had started to chip off, the garden swing wasn't anything out of the ordinary. His aunt had one just like that in her garden, albeit in better condition. What was bizarre was the occupant, or in this case the lack of one. He watched, spellbound as the swing rocked back and forth steadily, in perfect rhythm although no one was seated in it.

His eyes, they had to be playing tricks on him and his legs seemed to be determined to prove that as they dragged him against his will towards the swing. As he got closer, the strong scent of cheap perfume hit him hard but try as he might, he couldn't see anyone. Was that a glove on the ground? As he bent down to take a closer look, the street lamps flickered to life casting a pale glow over the street. The light fell on the swing illuminating it perfectly, but just as it did the motion stopped.

Tilting his head up, his eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, tearing down the street. He had dropped the bread but he didn't seem to care. The man didn't look back, he just kept on running. Had he turned around he would have seen the lamp just above the swing flicker and then go out completely, he would have seen the swing start moving again, creaking painfully as it did.

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><p>Arthur let out a sigh as he wiped the steam off the mirror, looking at his reflection critically. Iain was right; he probably did need to do something about his eyebrows. After a futile attempt at taming his hair, he dressed and stepped outside the bathroom. The blue linen sheets looked inviting and he longed to just curl up in bed with a steaming hot cup of tea, preferably Earl Grey and a book. In all honesty it was no wonder he didn't have a social life anymore, he mused as he knotted his tie and brushed imaginary lint of his shirt. He couldn't remember the last time he had dined with someone that he wasn't related to or worked with, so having tea with Francis and his boys was a welcome affair.<p>

The thought of Francis made him frown, it wasn't the man himself (although he was perfectly infuriating on his own), it was his sons. Alfred was sure he had seen something and his conviction had reminded Arthur of his own when he was little. He vaguely recalled telling his parents that he really had seen faeries, pleading with them in fact, but they had sent him away, for 'his own good' they had sworn.

"Aren't we all dressed up then?" Arthur nearly jumped a foot in the air from shock. "Flutter, how many times have I asked you not to startle me like that?" The tiny faerie grinned, "Sorry Arthur, it must have slipped my mind. I won't let it happen again. Are you going to see that man from the train then?" She giggled as Arthur playfully swatted at her, before plopping herself down on his head. "He's quite good looking isn't he?" Arthur scowled, "I admit, he has his good points. Oh for heaven's sake, that hurts! Keep it down you damned fae!" he swore as she rolled about in his hair, clapping her hands with glee. Her Arty was growing up so fast.

Meanwhile, Francis was getting ready as well, buttoning his own shirt while telling Matthew to please run a comb through his hair and yelling at Alfred to get down from there because that was dangerous. He decided that it was a good time to talk to Alfred when Matthew excused himself to the bathroom, claiming that Kumajirou needed to use it. He sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him.

"Alfred, we talked about this, non? No more about these…ghosts of yours. You promised me." "But dad, I'm not making them up! I swear, I'm telling the truth, why won't you believe me!" Francis wanted to believe his son, his eyes shone with honesty and determination. Alfred didn't make up things usually, but specters and ghosts; things that go bump in the night? Honestly, he let his imagination run away with him sometimes and Francis was afraid that one day, the boy would no longer recognize the boundary between reality and imagination. "Alfred please, no more," he begged. Ever since the divorce, things had been so complicated. Matthew chose that moment to step into the room and he clutched his bear tightly, noting the tense atmosphere in the room. He knew that his brother and his father were arguing again.

Forcing a smile on his face, Francis chirped, "Ah…enough of this unhappiness. Arthur will be waiting and I'm sure that he won't want to eat with people who are sullen and angry. Et alors… pouvez-vous trouver un mouchoir pour moi s'il vous plait? Ensuite, nous irons rencontrer Arthur? C'est d'accord?" Matthew muttered a soft, "Oui papa" under his breath before dragging Alfred along with him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he ran a brush through his hair wincing when it caught in a snarl. A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts and he searched for a tie to pull up his hair. Maybe it was Arthur? As he pulled his hair away from his face, the knocking grew more persistent and Francis started as whoever was banging on the door shook the hinges.

Yanking the door open, he was prepared to let out his frustration at the uncouth person, but his protests died in his throat. The hallway was completely empty.

Tea was a subdued affair, although considering the time; it was more an early dinner. The boys dug into their steaks while Francis enjoyed his own meal at a more leisure pace. Sipping his red wine, he observed the British man over the rim of his glass. He was relatively well-mannered, easily flustered and had an extremely short temper but he was so much fun to rile up. Arthur was savouring a steaming cup of Earl Grey and opted for a light meal, two sandwiches only. There wasn't much conservation but for the first time in ages, the silence that prevailed was a comfortable one, not the usual tense pause that had dominated his previous life.

Alfred and Matthew got along with him well; Alfred in particular seemed enamoured with the man relieving Francis to no end. It had been far too long since he had seen his son smile like that. Arthur was patient with the children's almost endless stream of questions and somehow managed to keep track of the flow of conversations no matter how garbled it seemed. He smiled as Matthew introduced Arthur to Kumajirou and the man awkwardly greeted the bear back, blushing and turning his head away when he noticed that Francis was watching.

"So, where are you from anyway?" Arthur asked, while Alfred and Matthew played with the stuffed bear. "We're from Paris," Francis said, taking a deep swig of wine, no longer meeting Arthur's eyes, "It's a long story, not a very interesting one either I'm afraid. But, things happened and I decided that it was a good thing for us to start a new life. I got a job here, it's a trial for a month but I'll be working as a chef. If all goes well, then perhaps it'll be permanent." Arthur wisely didn't press for more details, he knew all about unstable family life. "And you, mon lapin?"

"Don't call me that! I'm actually from London myself. Though I wasn't born there, I live there with my brother. I needed a break from work, so he decided that it would be a good idea for me to go on a holiday. I heard that an old friend of mine would be in town around now, so here I am I suppose." he ended, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "What exactly do you do for a living?" asked Francis curiously. "I do a bit of writing. Mostly stuff for the weekly magazines, opinion pieces, news and the occasional cultural piece. Nothing special." for some reason, he didn't feel like telling Francis that he also wrote, and that not only was he here in search of much needed inspiration but that the contemplated protagonist for his next novel was blond French man with two young sons. "That must be a stressful job."

"Not really. Oh I agree that there are times when it's a bit tough, but in the long run, it's worth it. Just knowing that your article, your words really could have made even the smallest difference in just one person's life, it makes all the heartache okay." "You must truly love your job then." Arthur laughed, "You have no idea, my brothers love to pick on me about it. I suppose being a chef must have its hardships as well though. I can't imagine needing to cook professionally for a living, I can barely manage a decent plate of scones myself."

"It's the same passion that you have for writing. For me, my cooking is my art." "Then you start tomorrow, or do you have some other plans for the day?" Francis was shocked, was the shy British man actually hitting on him? He wasn't the only one who surprised, Flutter had tumbled headfirst out of Arthur's hair into his tea and he was subtly trying to fish her out without looking like a complete madman. "Since you're new here, it wouldn't be a bad idea to look around a little, get your bearings a bit. You might even be able to meet Toni, sorry that's my friend, and he'd be able to tell you all you need to know about this place."

"Dad, don't forget we're going to see that church tomorrow too remember?" Alfred piped up from his seat. Arthur watched interestedly as Francis stiffened slightly, before hurriedly regaining his composure. "Alfred, we agreed that what happened this afternoon was nothing but your imagination. There's no need to visit the old, dusty church especially if they're renovating it. We'll just get in someone's way. I'm sure you would prefer seeing where the movie theatres are, or maybe they have a McDonalds here." Alfred looked like he wanted to say something, but a glare from his father kept him quiet. Matthew meanwhile looked on the verge of tears and Francis looked as though he'd soon be developing a massive headache. For Arthur, it was like someone was playing him a movie of his own life.

"Maybe," he cut in, clearing his throat politely, "We should go visit the church. I'm sure they wouldn't mind us visiting, the parish is far too beautiful for them to shut down completely. Besides," he said, looking directly at Francis, "it would put the lad's mind at ease."

"If you please Arthur, I don't want to encourage this nonsense. I've let this go on long enough." "Maybe the lad saw something," he pressed, noting the way Francis's fingers tightened around the glass. "Alfred, he has a very big imagination, which sometimes likes to fly away with him. He likes to create stories, but he often forgets that they are just that: stories. Surely you can understand how dangerous this is to a child." Arthur looked down, he knew what would come after this, "But how are you so sure that he is making it up?"

As he predicted, Francis' cheeks were now tinted red, and his blue eyes flashed angrily, but it was not for the reason that Arthur had expected at first. "I can assure you Arthur, my son is not crazy."

"What? Oh good God, I know that. I never said that he was. What I mean is how do you know that what Alfred sees doesn't exist? How can you be so sure?" He ignored Flutter's tugs on his fingers to stop, catching Alfred's eyes for a second. The boy seemed dazed, in all probability, no one had ever defended him before. Francis on the other hand was livid.

"I beg your pardon? Mon Dieu... vous êtes sérieux? You're crazy then? People like you, they're a menace to society...I let you talk to my children! Venez vitement!" he called out to his sons. They picked up on the tendrils of panic that had crept into his voice and wasted no time in grabbing his hands before he shepherded them off. Alfred waved goodbye and Arthur braved a small smile for the boy.

He buried his head in his hands after they had left, 'menace to society' that was a new one. The cafe was more or less empty and the few patrons that were there didn't seem to have noticed the argument, thank God for small mercies he supposed. "Oh Arthur I'm so sorry," said Flutter as she patted his shoulder. "That's alright love, you can't blame the man though. It's just, I feel awful for Alfred. That lad will grow up believing that he's crazy. It's the worst sense of loneliness you know, when you think your mind is tricking you." "Maybe he won't be alone, after all, you found us." Arthur smiled, "Yes I suppose I did."

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><p>What a mess this was turning out to be, they had only been here a day and already things were upside down. Francis glanced at Alfred and Matthew who had insisted on sleeping with him after all the 'excitement' before. Alfred was holding Matthew protectively and the younger boy was clutching his bear. Pulling the comforter over them, he pressed kisses to both their foreheads, silently wishing them a good night.<p>

"_How can you be so sure?"_ Arthur's voice rang through his head, clear as though the man was right next to him. He had sounded so sure of what he was saying, as though he had experienced it himself, but at the same time had sounded so very tired. His heart had ached at the pain that the man's voice had held, but at the same time he knew he had a responsibility to his children. He pulled out the ribbon from his hair and placed it on the coffee table before going to brush his teeth and change into his night clothes. Guilt grew in his stomach, gnawing at his insides like an ulcer and Francis wondered whether perhaps he had been too hard on the Englishman. After all, he couldn't be sure...

He shook his head; the wine must have been exceptionally strong. There's no way he could be having such bizarre thoughts, but all the same his harshness plagued him. Arthur had been good for the children and if he was honest with himself, good for him as well. And he had been so discourteous and left Arthur with the bill, an unacceptable social faux pas. That was it then; he'd call up the man tomorrow morning and apologize while explaining to him rationally why he couldn't encourage Alfred like that. Simple, that was a good way to fix things. As he was mentally patting himself on the back, he stepped out of the bathroom, switching the light off and picking up his hair tie from the top of the shelf next to the door.

He froze...hadn't he left it on the coffee table? No, all this nonsense must be getting to him. He lay down in bed and allowed himself to drift off to sleep, dreaming of green eyed rabbits with giant eyebrows.

His sleep was cut short however and he jerked upright in bed. He was unsure what exactly had woken him, but then a draft hit him and he sighed. He had left the window open. As he shut the window and drew the curtains he wondered in awe how parents could let their children run around so late. It was getting annoying actually...

Pulling open the door, he felt a sense of déjà vu sink in, as he stared at an empty hallway.

Arthur was really enjoying this book; each page brought with it a refreshing feel of familiarity. His reading time was cut short however by the beeping of his phone. He scowled, he must have forgotten to shut the damn thing off, but who on Earth would be calling this late? Arthur picked up the call, "Yes?" he snapped, he certainly wasn't obliged to be polite at this bloody time in the morning. His eyebrows shot up in shock though, when he was greeted by a nearly hysterical Frenchman. "Slow down, I can't understand what you're saying."

"Arthur...something's wrong. I think...I think either I am going crazy or Alfred may have been right all along."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks to everyone who took the time to read through this. And a huge thanks to Doneti Ichike who fixed some of the mistakes that I had made in the last chapter.

_Et alors… pouvez-vous trouver un mouchoir pour moi s'il vous plait? __Ensuite, nous irons rencontrer Arthur? C'est d'accord?- _And so then or So then, can you find a handkerchief for me please? Afterwards, we'll go meet Arthur? Ok? (He's asking both Alfred and Matthew this.)

_Mon Dieu... vous êtes sérieux- _My God…you are serious.

_Venez vitement_- Come quickly.

Review please!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Piano Blues**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing in this.

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><p>Arthur started as someone coughed loudly, the sound drawing him out of his reverie. Bright green eyes blinked as they readjusted to the dim lighting of the room and pale fingers fumbled to adjust his glasses which had slid down his nose when he had jumped. In his lap rested a battered copy of the history of Boston, a gem that he had dug up from the dark recesses of the back of the library.<p>

The book itself was far older than most of the works that he had seen, the pages were sewn together with a strange silken thread that occasionally could be seen in the more worn areas and the cover of the book was an exquisite art piece. Thick and sturdy, the deep blue of the cover was complimented by intricate silver detailing that ran along the face of the cover and the spine of the book as well. Arthur didn't know what precisely it was about a book that made his worries melt away.

Perhaps it was the reassuring weight of it in your hands, or the smell that an old book had that stirred up so many old memories. Perhaps it was the feeling of holding a piece of history in your hands, and being able to submit yourself entirely to someone else's thoughts as you let yourself drift away to another world. The library was a marvelous hideout as well, with its endless shelves of books and manuscripts; it offered comfy reading spaces for its patrons without desecrating the sanctity of the library itself. True, there were computers and a few board games to interest the younger generation, but Arthur had yet to see any hyper children chasing each other past the works of Shakespeare or hormonal teenagers indulging themselves in front of Mills and Boons. Even the view from the huge windows was magnificent and to top it all off, after you had finished in the library you could cross the road and buy yourself a cup of steaming tea and a plate of scones.

Turning slightly, he smiled warmly at Flutter who had curled up on the corner of the armchair and was snoring softly. Heavens knew the poor thing deserved a rest after last night. Arthur frowned, as his thoughts drifted back to unpleasant night he had, it seemed that as hard as he tried to forget it, the events were destined to remain a permanent fixture in his memory.

***Last night***

Arthur's bushy eyebrows furrowed, the Frenchman's accent had gotten thicker on account of his panic and he could barely make out what he was saying. But he could tell something was wrong. "Alright," he said, trying to remain calm, "Take a deep breath and tell me what room you're in. I'll be there in five minutes alright? And don't let anyone else inside. It's going to be alright love."

The British man winced at his accidental use of the endearment; Iain would have been tickled pink had he been there. Sighing, he placed his book down on the nightstand, carefully marking his place with a bookmark and tugged his dressing gown over his pajamas. As he locked the door, he sadly bid farewell to his night which had consisted of plans to read and sulk about his failed dinner.

Exactly four and a half minutes later, he was outside the correct door number, 804, as Francis had said. Quietly, he knocked on it, not wanting to wake up the other inhabitants. After knocking, he added hurriedly, "It's me you prat. Open the door, it's nippy outside." The next thing that Arthur knew, he was being embraced by a shirtless Frenchman. He squeaked and tried to push Francis away, noting absentmindedly that he smelled rather nice, like roses or some sort of flower. "Francis, you need to talk in English, or slow down or something. I'm afraid I can't understand a word that you're saying."

As Francis hurriedly explained what had happened, Arthur noted with no small amount of amazement that Alfred's blue eyes seemed to keep flitting back to Flutter who was perched on his shoulder. There was no doubt about it then, Alfred could see her and probably others like her, which was certainly interesting. At the very least, it explained the tension in the household. After ending the disturbing tale, Francis somehow managed to tuck the two boys back in, Matthew clutching onto his bear and Alfred next to him, before throwing himself onto the couch next to Arthur and raking a hand through his already messy hair."What do I do now?" Francis said, "If Alfred is right, and there is something…"

Arthur looked down, "Maybe you're overreacting just a tad. After all, there's a reasonable explanation for everything you told me. Maybe you didn't remember where you kept your hair tie; it's been known to happen. Perhaps the wine added to the effect. And as for the mystery of the door, whoever it was must have been playing a prank, you shouldn't worry. The children were possibly small so you couldn't see them in the dark. Either way, we'll see if someone at the reception can speak to their parents and prevent them from causing a nuisance again tomorrow night. So you see, my good man, there's really nothing to get so perturbed about."

"But it was you who said that I must open my mind!" Francis protested. "Why would you listen to me?" asked Arthur sharply, "I'm a _menace to society_, if I recall correctly. Why should my words bear any effect on your action?" He watched slightly guiltily as Francis flinched. "Oui, I was wrong to say such things. It was… foolish on my part, and I regret it. But you must understand, I wouldn't have called you unless I trusted you and for some reason I know I can. Alfred, he trusts you, I haven't seen him smile like that for so long and Matthieu is happier as well." Something clicked in Arthur's mind. "Alfred can see things can't he? Things that other people can't. Has something like this happened before?"

Francis wrung his hands, "Oui, it has. It seems trouble follows us where we go. I thought if I brought the boys here, things would be different. After the last time…cependant, I beg you, c'est quelque chose que maintenant je ne veux pas discuter."

"And Matthew?" asked Arthur, contemplatively, "Can he see things as well?" Francis buried his head in his hands, "Oui, he used to be able to see winged people when he was little. But then, it stopped and I thought that perhaps it would stop with Alfred too. But it hasn't." Winged people? He glanced at Flutter who had gone to check on the boys, well this certainly added to the intrigue. He was unsure of what to do; on the one hand he could offer Francis firsthand experience and explanations of what Alfred was going through, as well as guidance for the lad. But he knew that would end up in more fights, no that was a secret he'd keep for a bit more. However he wondered if holding his peace would endanger the family further, the events of today evening proved that there was something darker that was afoot.

Francis started as he felt something warm being draped across his shoulders. Arthur had caught the man shivering slightly, and had wordlessly draped his dressing gown over him. His cheeks warmed when the Frenchman aimed a genuine smile in his direction and tugged the coat on firmly. "Merci beaucoup, mon cher"" he said softly. Arthur's face flushed, "Don't mention it," he sputtered. "If you'd like, I could stay the night," his eyes widened as he realized how that sounded and his voice raised an octave as he tried to explain what he meant. "I mean, if you'd like someone to keep an eye on the boys or anything, and not any other way. I just thought that perhaps, well…yes." Francis' grin turned perverted, "Actually Arthur, I would love some company. Perhaps when we wake up in the morning, the night's horrible events would have been dispelled by the bright rays of the sun. Bonne nuit mon lapin."

"Good night git. And don't call me that!" Later as he lay sprawled out on the sofa, he struggled to go to sleep. Francis' words coupled with the general shock of finding other people who like him, could _see_ had shot his brain into overdrive. All was silent though, and as far as he could tell, there was nothing else in the room with them. "What do you think?" he whispered to Flutter. "It sounds strange but I really think that there was _something_ in here, I can't explain but I can feel something in here. Something really dark and evil-spirited. It's not one of us though Arthur, so you must be careful." Arthur opened his mouth to reply, when a sudden shuffling in the corner of his vision caught his attention. Alfred slowly inched forward, his blue Captain America pajamas visible in the faint light.

"What's wrong lad?" asked Arthur, "You should be in bed, it's far too late for you to be walking around." Alfred looked defiantly at Flutter, "You can see her too, I know it. I'm not crazy right Arthur?" Puzzled, he looked between the boy and Flutter, he didn't know what to say, because either way he was opening a box that just wasn't ready to be opened.

He decided to take the plunge, "Yes Alfred, that's right. You're not crazy and you musn't let anyone tell you otherwise. Now then, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, this is Flutter from the Green Oak Clan." Alfred flashed her a toothy grin, before bouncing onto the sofa next to Arthur. "Dad thinks I'm nuts, 'cause he can't see them. Matt used to be able to see them but now he can't. I think he's lying sometimes about it, I think he just wants dad to be happy." Arthur placed his hand on the downcast boy's shoulder. "Lad, you need to try and understand. Your father loves you a great deal, and he's just trying to protect you. I know it's hard sometimes because he doesn't believe you, but try and put your feet in his shoes." Alfred blinked at him, "I don't Arthur, his feet are _way_ bigger than mine, why would I want to do that?"

Arthur mentally slapped himself, "What I meant was to try and reverse the situation. What if your father was the one who told you that such things existed and you couldn't see any of them? Would you believe what he told you?" Alfred puffed his chest out, "Of course I would! He's my dad, he wouldn't lie to me!" "But wouldn't you sometimes doubt him, at least a little?"

The boy seemed to deflate, "I guess so. I mean, if he came up with a story of a flying unicorn I'd laugh at him." Arthur smiled gently, "So you see why you need to at least try to be a little more patient with him. And the thing about adults is that we're awfully stubborn creatures. We don't like being proved wrong. But on a different note, when did you first realize you could see spirits?"

Alfred hugged his knees to his chest, "It was when I was in kindergarten I guess. There was this kid that had died a few years ago in a traffic accident, and I could see her spirit. We used to play together on the swings. She was really nice, she taught me how to climb trees and stuff. But no one else except Matthew could see her. All the other kids thought I was really weird and they used to stay away from us. They even tried to beat Matt up once, but then Alice got angry and she threw rocks at them and made the bullies go away. I guess they got angry and they told the teacher. One day, when I was on the swings with Alice, she asked me who I was talking to. She didn't believe when I said that I was talking to Alice and she called dad."

He didn't know why he did it, he just knew that the boy needed the comfort, so he leant down and hugged Alfred close. Alfred leaned in and didn't move; he was far too caught up in his memories. "What did your mother say?" "Mom thought it was dad's fault. She...she wasn't really home a lot back then. Dad and her started arguing, I think she wanted to send us away but Dad didn't. Then one day, mom took Matt and left. I remember dad was really sad." "I can imagine, your father loves you two a great deal. But then, Matthew came back didn't he?"

Alfred's brow furrowed. "Yeah, it's kinda weird. Dad doesn't talk about it, but one day he got a call and he just ran out. The next thing you know, Matt was back home. He didn't know what was happening either. All he remembered was Mom going out to buy groceries and then she didn't come back. She must have bailed or whatever. Who cares though, he's back with us. Hey Arthur, do you think the lady I saw in the church today, do you think she was a ghost?"

He tightened his grip on his shoulders. "I don't know my boy. It's very possible that she's a normal person like you or me and we just didn't look up in time to see her. But, there's one thing that you need to always remember no matter what. The dead are best left alone. Occasionally you'll meet a spirit that needs assistance crossing over, and that's a different matter all together, something that you'll deal with when you get older. But there are quite a few entities that are less than kind and they can sense who can see them and who can't. You must stay far away from them, because these spirits tend to want companions for their afterlife. Now then, enough of this. Off to bed with you, or else you'll be too tired to enjoy yourself tomorrow. Good night Alfred and I hope you have pleasant dreams."

Alfred beamed at Arthur, "Night Arthur! See you in the morning!" Needless to say, Arthur didn't get a wink of sleep that night.

***Present day***

Francis had ended up having to start working the next day, an unexpected turn of events that was caused by the sudden resignation of a chef who had worked there. Apparently the young man had experienced a nervous breakdown after seeing an apparition on a swing, or so said his wife. Both Alfred and Matthew were staying in the hotel, Francis didn't want to let them out of his sight, and Arthur couldn't say that he blamed him. He had wandered to the local library in hopes of finding some much needed inspiration for his next book. But after about an hour of futile searching, he'd ended up curled up with the book currently in his possession, a fascinating account of the history of the city, complete with anecdotes and various gory testimonies that were usually glossed over in modern historical works.

He was interested to note that the town itself got its name from the local church, which had been built over an old Norman building. He read on as the author described the various happenings of his time, from the adultery of the barber, to the gossiping of the baker across the street. Arthur had a feeling Toni would love this book. Although he had originally planned to meet the Spaniard, Antonio had called him and told him that his train had been delayed, so they had decided to meet up tomorrow. He hadn't seen him in a few months. They had dated briefly in college, but that had ended when Toni had laid eyes on the fiery Italian across the hallway, Lovino he thought his name was. Either way, the two had parted good friends, and still met up as often as their work allowed.

Checking his watch, he swore under his breath. It was already mid afternoon and he had promised Francis that he would be back in time for tea. That barely left him with an hour. Hastily, he dug around in his bag for a bookmark, when his eyes landed on the paragraph where he had stopped reading. His grip on the book tightened as he read that the hotel they were staying in once used to be a manor that eventually was rented out by the last living member of the family line, to a local hospital for the care of young children and abandoned orphans as well.

The author had less than pleasant things to say about the woman, whom he painted as '_a sorceress most evil, who tempted Satan on more than one occasion. That creature who hath dared to call itself a woman reveled in the suffering of others. There are no stories of happiness that come from that accursed building and I myself have once heard most unnatural screams from within the stone walls. I dare not venture onto the property for fear of mine soul being consumed, but my heart cries out for those young souls who suffer because of her._"

Not once was there a mention of the woman's name and Arthur didn't have time to search the entire book now. He flipped through the pages in search of anything, foolishly hoping that some clue would pop out of the book. Then his eyes laid on one of the few images that the book offered. It was a sketch of a woman seated at the piano. Arthur didn't know what it was about the hurried picture, but it made his blood run cold. Underneath the image was a caption, but the words were smudged with age and he couldn't make them out.

But he was sure that Alfred had seen something in the church, now he just needed to figure out what.

Back in the hotel, Francis wiped the sweat off his forehead and placed his apron up on a hook behind the kitchen door. He waved goodbye to one of his coworkers and strode out of the kitchen. Day one had turned out quite well, in spite of the terrible start that he'd had. He wanted nothing more than to freshen up and then join Arthur for some coffee.

His face flushed at the memory of the man's gown draped over his shoulders, how it had smelled of lavender and tea, how it had smelled of _Arthur_. Passing the reception desk, he remembered his discussion with Arthur the previous night, and stopped at the desk to speak to the man sitting there. Well groomed and polite, the man blinked at him when he explained his problem. "I'm sorry sir, but I must have mistaken you. Did you say that you wished to report a disturbance created on account of noisy young children?" "Yes. That's right. I was wondering if you could ask their parents to perhaps keep them quiet after a certain time at night."

"Yes, but sir, you must be wrong. You see, this is the off season, you're the only person here with children below the age of thirteen."

Francis stumbled back to his room, wanting to gather Alfred and Matthew before meeting Arthur. The British man would have an explanation for this, of course he would. He was nearing his room when a haunting tune drifted into his ears, it was a strange lilting piece, familiar but foreign at the same time. His feet developed a mind of his own and soon he found himself outside door number 814.

The door was slightly open and the music was coming from inside. Curiosity got the better of him and he pushed the door open. At the middle of the room was a grand piano which was the only piece of furniture. A woman was playing, her head bowed as her pale hands moved across the keys. Black locks fell over her face covering it from view and Francis observed that she wore a frock of some sort, the kind that he absentmindedly thought belonged to the days of Queen Elizabeth the first. He wasn't aware of how long he stood there, transfixed by the melody, when abruptly the music stopped. Slowly, the woman lifted her head up and when her face was revealed, Francis fell to the ground in horror before scrambling back. He pushed against the wall for leverage before hurtling towards his room.

When the woman had lifted her hear, and the screen of ebony strands had drifted away, Francis's blue eyes were met with black sockets of emptiness. Where her eyes should have been, there was nothing but shadow.

The woman just sat there, a grin stretching itself like a lazy serpent across her pale face, staring fixedly at the open door.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> And here's the next chapter! For the record, yes, apparently the name Boston is believed to have originated from the name of the church 'St. Botolph's town'.

**Translations:**

_Cependant, I beg you, c'est quelque chose que maintenant je ne veux pas discuter.-_ However, I beg you, that's something I don't want to talk about now.

As a final note, the next chapter will only be out sometime after July 23rd because I'll be having exams soon. But thanks for reading and review please!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:- Grainy Memories**

**Disclaimer:- I own absolutely nothing in this.**

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><p>If the steadily increasing volume of the hostile snarling was anything to go by, then the blasted hellhounds were getting far closer than what would be healthy for him. He spared a second to throw a glance over his shoulder, a move he soon came to regret as his feet slid over the gleaning cobblestones which had been made slick by last night's rain. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed wildly at anything in the nearby vicinity, trying to regain his balance. His hands found purchase on the roughened surfaces of the walls near him and his fingers grabbed at the uneven stone forcing himself upright. He had twisted his arm, the additional burning sensation in his palm alerting him to fact that it was bleeding. But there was nothing that he could do about that, he needed to keep running. As he tore down the streets, cradling his injured arm to his chest, he searched for a place where he could take refuge. The early morning mist was doing little to aid his visibility, but in hindsight it was as much a blessing as it was a curse. If he couldn't see too well, then the Yard wouldn't be able to see him either. Now if he could only eliminate those mutts from the picture, he'd be alright.<p>

Veering towards the right, he set off down a dark alley. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, there was a bakery nearby and they had started their early morning work. He needed to find an abandoned house, an outhouse or a shed before the sun came up or else he was done for. This time, he'd been far too careless with his masterpiece, should the Yard catch up to him, he'd never get out alive.

Hope itself seemed to flee from his being as he was faced with an unforeseen conundrum. The alley that he had taken was dark and out of the way yes, but it led to a dead-end. Turning around he was met with his sole option, a huge manor that was most definitely not uninhabited.

The wrought iron gate was partially hidden by thick tendrils of ivy which had taken over the walls that surrounded the manor. He could either climb over the wall or try his luck opening the gate; given that he didn't have any rope and couldn't assure himself a safe descent, he decided to go with the latter. Carefully, he teased the gate open just wide enough for him to slip inside. As he crept through the manicured garden, he had but one aim in mind, to keep out of sight until it was safe for him to leave. And then maybe he'd start over, perhaps head to Wales. He'd heard that Wales was quite nice in the summer months.

A rustling in the bushes caught his attention and he froze. A young woman had emerged from the shrubs, fully armed with what appeared to be a pistol. Elegant and attractive, her long dark hair fell past her shoulders in waves. She wore a traditional gown and a pair of matching gloves, but she seemed accustomed to the feel of the pistol in her small hands. But what captivated him entirely were her eyes; black as coals they were, with none of the comforting warmth that coal had when it was burnt. They stared at him fixedly, unmoving without a single ounce of fear. He shivered involuntarily as he felt himself sinking in their bottomless depths.

Feebly, he attempted to salvage the situation. He straightened out his now disreputable brown suit and attempted to tip his hat at her. Perhaps if he didn't shift too much, she would be unable to see the tears in his coat, the mud that was caked on his shoes and the blood on his sleeve. "A very good morning to you madam." He said, hoping that his tone would be sufficiently gallant to startle her, gaining enough time to make his next move. But the woman remained unfazed and asked him, her tone cold as the morning air, "I would be quite happy if you would care to explain to me the reason as to why you are trespassing on my property and at that this time of the day."

"Well…you see… that is to say…" "I do not appreciate liars at all my good man." It was the eyes, he'd later tell himself, there was sorcery in her eyes. That was only the reason why he'd make a mistake like he did next, "I'm running from the police. I killed someone." He was shocked at his sudden revelation, but the events that followed would create an even murkier mystery than that.

To his utmost surprise, the woman lowered the pistol slowly, although her finger never left the trigger. Bowing her head so that he could no longer see her face, she said, "I see…And would you say that you enjoyed it?" The man had never truly felt fear; it was an emotion that had until this point been foreign to him. He was the creator of fear, not the other way around. But when she lifted her head, a grin that he could only describe as demonic stretched across her pale face, his blood curdled. He felt very much like the young woman whom he had slaughtered only a day ago. "What is your name?" she enquired in an amused tone, her grin becoming impossibly wide. "Jack," he said swallowing thickly, "My name is Jack." He felt his heart stop as he caught sight of her eyes, or at least what should have been her eyes. He stared in horrified bewilderment at the black sockets of emptiness that peered back at him.

"Well Jack, we're very happy to have you here." Tipping her head back, she laughed and Jack swore that he could hear someone else, no something else, laugh along with her. As he followed her meekly back to the manor, he noticed for the first time the iron bars behind the windows and the small, frightened faces that peered out anxiously at him.

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><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Arthur was speechless; he didn't know what to tell Francis. The man was beyond distraught and from what Arthur could make out, had experienced another encounter. This was different though, the spirit had purposefully led Francis to her, and it was much more worrying than the previous events simply because it meant that for whatever reason she was now targeting them. The four of them were in his room, after the Brit had deemed it unsafe for them to return to their room and while Francis paced up and down in the hall, Alfred and Matthew sat at the dining table, preoccupied with a coloring book that Arthur had bought them.

The biggest blow however had been when they had tried to relocate the room to figure out what was going on. When Arthur had asked the man at the welcoming desk, he'd received a puzzled blank look. The receptionist had politely explained to him that Room 814 had been unused since the inauguration of the hotel. According to the young man, sinister fortunes had befallen anyone who set foot inside.

When a maid, who after entering the room went mad and gouged her eyes out, tried to hang herself from the ceiling fan, the manager had decided that enough was enough. He had locked it up and declared it off limits for all clients. So, explained the man, there was no way that they had seen anything in the room. Arthur didn't press the matter further; he knew that none of this would look good on Francis' evaluation.

Back in his own room, the aggravated Frenchman continued his pacing, long since switched back to his mother-tongue. Arthur had given up on trying to comprehend what the man was muttering, the rapid translation effort was staring to give him a migraine which honestly in part was because of the fact he had skipped lunch in his rush to return to the hotel and the family. Taking a deep breath he decided to calm the man down. "Francis, don't you think that's quite enough. The boys will get worried."

Francis stopped pacing, but turned to glare at Arthur, "Why didn't you ask the man at reception about the room again? How do you know that he wasn't lying?"

"Because, he had absolutely no reason to lie. I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Don't you? You didn't believe me did you? What, did you think I was insane? This is your way of placating the crazy French man?" Arthur blinked, wasn't it just yesterday that he had been called the lunatic. "You're getting it all wrong, now sit down and let me explain."

Sitting down on the sofa, he patted the spot next to him in what he hoped was an inviting way. Francis sat down gingerly and watched him expectantly. "I thought that it would be better not to press the issue. After all, what if he brought it to the notice of your supervisor? Trust me, seeing things won't make getting a steady job any easier." Francis was still irritated, and snapped at him, "Then you were doing all this out of la bonté de votre coeur? Is that it?"

"What else do you want me to say?" Arthur asked, his temper starting to rise as well, "I was worried about you!" "Why?"

Arthur responded before thinking about what he was saying. "Good lord man, haven't you realized that I care? What do I need to do to make you understand that I care… I care about Alfred and Matthew?"

"And me?" Francis added quietly, "Of course I care about you! Why _**wouldn't**_ I?"

It was then that Arthur realized what he had said. Flushing, he was about to turn his head away when Francis took his hand and clasped it firmly in his own. "Mon cher," he said softly, forcing Arthur to focus his gaze on him, "I do not claim to understand why or how, but after only a few days already you have become such an important part of my life. Arthur, I made a mistake once; I do not want to make the same mistake again."

Arthur gulped, a small part of him was urging him to pull his hand away and make a break for it. But the remainder urged him to stay, to be honest with Francis. "Francis, I don't know…I don't know what to say." He winced at the crestfallen expression on the handsome man's visage.

"Oh come now you dolt. Don't put on such a saddened expression. I'm not saying that I don't want this, whatever this might be. It's just… it's been a terribly long time since I've felt anything even close to this. You have to understand, I have no idea what to do. But I know that there's something that keeps drawing me to you, and I'd like very much to try to make this work."

Francis smiled warmly at him, "Mon cher, that is the beautiful thing about love. Sometimes, you have to let go of the logic and leave the need to understand behind. You will know what is right. Et mon coeur me dit que c'est correct."

He drew the smaller man towards him, slowly closing the gap between them. Almost instinctively, Arthur shut his eyes. "Non mon cher, ne fais pas cela. I want to see your beautiful eyes." If Arthur hadn't been blushing enough before, now he was completely red in the face and judging by the warmth, his neck, ears and part of his chest were flushed as well. Francis began to draw him closer once again.

"Dad! I'm really hungry, can we go down and get something to eat?" Arthur and Francis sprang apart, but Francis didn't let go of Arthur's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Oui, bien sur. Go and wash your hands first and then we'll go." When the boys had left, he smiled ruefully at Arthur, "Trust Al's stomach to ruin the mood." Shrugging his shoulders, Arthur said, "Perhaps it was for the best. After all, don't you think that we should tell them about this first?"

"I think we should decide what this is before we tell them anything. The children adore you as well. But, you must know, I don't regret a single moment that we have spent together, although I do wish that it were under happier circumstances."

That last sentence pushed Arthur's brain out of hibernation. Jumping up from the sofa, he ran to the coffee table where he had kept his bag and dug out the book he had found. "Look," he said excitedly to Francis, "I found this in the library!" Francis ran his fingers over the spine, true he was interested, but unlike Arthur he failed to see the immediate significance that the work held. Something kept flashing through his mind, something that Arthur had said before this, which he had ignored before because it hadn't seemed important. But now that he thought about it, it made all the difference. "Arthur," he asked carefully, "Has something like this happened to you? Do you… do you know what is happening to my son?"

Arthur took a step back, opening his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. "Arthur, are you, are you like Alfred? Can you see things as well?"

Arthur let out a bitter laugh, "I guess you figured it out then. This probably reinforces your initial theory that I'm crazy doesn't it?"

Francis smiled ruefully, "No more crazy than the rest of us. When did you realize?"

Shrugging, Arthur closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself. In the darkness of his mind, he could feel himself traveling back to his childhood. The walls of the hotel gave way to the huge green expanses of shady woods that he grew up in. The sounds of the vehicles melted into the rustling of leaves and the gurgling of the river that flowed past their house.

***Flashback***

At six years old, Arthur was already different than the rest of the children who went to school. Smaller than the others, he was always off on his own, playing with friends that only he could see. The teacher had spoken to his parents and Arthur had been strictly banned from what his father termed, 'this flowery nonsense.' Even though he didn't agree with his father, Arthur decided to at least pretend that they didn't exist, if only for his mother. She was already so tired, being kept on her feet by his youngest brother, Peter. She didn't need to worry about more things. Besides, Llyr could see them too, he knew it. Minty had told him so and she never lied to him. But Iain and the others thought that he was crazy. Pouting, he scrambled up the tree trunk to his secret hideout, he wasn't crazy. He was just special like those wizards in the books that Mother read to them. Except without the pointy hat...

Faint giggling from the bushes snapped him out of his daydream. "Hi Arthur!" one of the faeries chirped, waving excitedly at him. "You're late," another one gently chided. "I'm sorry, but Mother doesn't want me coming out here. She thinks…she thinks that you're dangerous."

The fae fluttered about worriedly, "That's not true Arthur! You know that you can trust us. We're you're friends!" Arthur smiled at them, "I know." The fae showed Arthur how to make wreaths out of flowers and just as Arthur was finishing his, he heard a familiar voice calling out his name. Looking up brightly, he exclaimed, "That's my brother Llyr!" He was about to call him over, when one of the faeries put her fingers to his lips. "No my dear, you must not call him! He's trying to take you away from us!"

Arthur blinked, "But… he's my brother…" A dark look passed over their faces, "Arthur, you must come with us. You are our friend, aren't you?" Arthur's chin quivered, he didn't like this, something was wrong. He wished that Minty was here, or that Llyr would hurry up and find him. "Are you our friend?" The fairy repeated, this time more forcefully. "I…I am" he stuttered. "Then come with us!" The faeries began tugging on his arms, pulling him towards the forest. "No!" he cried out, "I don't want to go!"

"Come with us!" they called, louder, shriller this time. "You'll be happier with us." Arthur stumbled and would have fallen had it not been for a pair of hands that steadied him. Looking up, he saw Iain looking blankly at the forested area. Llyr was standing in front of them, shouting angrily at the faeries, brandishing a stick threateningly at them, "Gadewch fy mrawd yn unig!" he called.

The fae angrily retreated and Llyr turned to Iain, "Come on, we need to get moving before they come back. I've only stopped them for awhile." Iain tugged on Arthur's arm, "Come on lad, let's get goin'" Arthur clung to Iain's hand, occasionally letting out a pathetic sniff as he tried bravely not to cry.

When they were at the edge of the woods, and their house was nearly in sight, the trio stopped. "Arthur," Llyr suddenly said, "Listen to me." The smallest boy didnt know where to look, he was still dazed by what had happened. "Arthur, I know you can see them, the fae that is. I can see them too." Arthur fixed a watery glare on Llyr, "Then why wouldn't you tell Mother and Father!" "Because, they wouldn't believe us. They can't see what we can, you've got to understand."

"I agree with 'im lad. I can't see 'em either ya know."

"There are two important things that you must always remember Arthur. First of all, never tell people that you can see them. No one will believe you and it's not safe. And secondly and most importantly, never trust them. The fae are born tricksters, they're not like us. To them, humans are just unlucky fools. They have neither love nor compassion for us and that means that they won't hesitate to hurt you. Do you understand?"

"Are they…are they all bad?" Llyr pondered over the answer for a minute, "No. There are some good magical creatures out there, that weird green monstrosity that you seem to know is one example. But more often than not, the ones that make contact with humans are bad Arthur and you must stay away from them. Is that clear?"

Iain's firm grip on his shoulder reminded him of how close he had been to being taken away. "Yes brother. I won't go with them again."

***End Flashback***

Francis was speechless, that sounded so similar to some of the things that Alfred and Matthew had told him before. He looked at the man in front of him, who with his arms wrapped firmly around his torso looked so vulnerable and small. Yet, his eyes were tired and lost. Instinctively, he stepped forward and looped his free arm over Arthur's waist. "What happened after that mon cher?"

Laughing humorlessly, Arthur said, "Father was furious that I had been fooling around in the forest, but Llyr and Iain never told my parents what exactly we were doing. I later found out what the fae wanted me for, it was an ancient ritual to gather power and longevity for their clan. I was the key piece for the puzzle, the human sacrifice needed to complete the ceremony. If it wasn't for my brothers…" he didn't need to finish the sentence.

They stood in silence for awhile waiting for Alfred and Matthew to return. Meanwhile, Francis absentmindedly flipped through the old book that Arthur had found. His heart wasn't in it; his mind was a thousand miles away, thinking about Arthur, Alfred, Matthew and what everything meant. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask but didn't know how. He was bemused by the notion that only a week ago, had anyone told him that there were others like his sons who could see spirits, he'd have called the police. Now, not only did he believe Arthur one-hundred percent, based on the fluttery feeling that he felt in his chest, he was falling strongly for the man.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. Arthur yelped as Francis' arm around his waist tightened. "What is it?" he asked worriedly as he watched Francis pale as he looked at something in the book. "Cette image…." Francis managed to get out, "C'est la femme…non pas la femme, la chose, l'apparition on peut l'appeler que j'ai vu ce matin."

Arthur stared at the picture, the strange woman at the piano staring back at them. "That's impossible," he muttered under his breath, the book was dated to at least a century and a half ago. The caption underneath the picture was too blurred for them to make out. That was when he remembered, Antonio was here. Perhaps he'd be able to help them solve this.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>Here's chapter four. Sorry for the delay, my computer pretty much died on me for awhile. Llyr is Wales and Iain is Scotland, Peter is well...Peter. Minty is the Flying Mint Bunny because no story is complete without her.

**Translations for the chapter**:

la bonté de votre coeur- The goodness of your heart.

Et mon coeur me dit que c'est correct- And my heart tells me that this is correct

Non mon cher, ne fais pas cela- No, my dear (Essentially, mon cher is a term of endearment), don't do that.

Gadewch fy mrawd yn unig- Roughly, should be Welsh for Leave my little brother alone.

Cette image-This picture…

C'est la femme…non pas la femme, la chose, l'apparition on peut l'appeler que j'ai vu ce matin.- This is the woman, no not the woman, the thing, the apparition, you can call it that I saw this morning.

If there's any mistake in the translation (especially the Welsh), please let me know. I use Google for the Welsh. Also, for any of my readers out there, I'm looking for ideas for Arthur's pen name. If you have any please either mention it in a review or preferably, send me a PM.

Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: A Flicker in the Darkness**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing except the idea and Flutter.

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><p><strong>Boston-1890<strong>

"Did you hear about the McAlistair's daughter?" "No, I didn't…Don't tell me that poor child has…Poor Lauren!" Jack ignored the hushed whispers of the townsfolk around him, preferring instead to use their distraction to his advantage, sorting through the masses of vegetables on the cart. He picked up a tomato, examining it for any signs of damage and placed it in his bag. He was grateful that he wasn't very well known in the small town, oh sure people had heard of him, but none of them could recognize him by his face. Not that they could do that in any city, but at least here, the police weren't always after him, he could move around slightly more freely than on the busy streets of London. Or, at least he could have if it hadn't been for the fact that Miss Leigh had kept on a shorter leash than what they used to tie up the dogs.

Paying for his purchases, he adjusted his hat instinctively, not wanting to take any chances. Absentmindedly, some of the women's drivel entered his field of hearing. "It's a terrible thing really; I heard it from the butcher earlier this morning. It seems that she came down with the Disease not two nights ago." "Then, she's gone to…" "Yes, Ms. Leigh has taken her in, bless her soul."

Ah, well that certainly explained things slightly more clearly. Lauren McAlistair would be the young lass who had arrived this morning. Pale, with limp flaxen locks, her sky blue eyes had been disconcerted, just like all the rest. The ten year old had seemed so small, clutching Jyll's hand, staring into space unresponsively as her mother bid her a tearful farewell. But that was to be expected now that she had the Disease.

The Disease was an inexplicable set of problems that had cropped up in the village, with symptoms ranging from frothing at the mouth to fits, to complete separation from the physical world. Till date, almost fifty children had been taken ill, yet none knew why. The townsfolk were a superstitious lot, many felt that this was a sure sign of the presence of the devil but no doctor, preacher nor exorcist could cure them. Not a single soul above the age of fifteen had contracted the mysterious malady, but as the days wore on, people's fear grew. When the mayor expressed his desire to burn the afflicted at the stakes, there was scarcely a murmur of protest, save one strong voice that rose above the rest.

Jyll Leigh, who had arrived in the town only a few weeks ago, was a young Welsh woman who had come from the Welsh countryside. Quiet and unassuming, nothing was known about her, her parentage, line of work, everything was still ambiguous. But when she had heard about the plan of action, she declared that she would willingly look after the children. "Innocent souls must not suffer unduly for the sins of another." The townsfolk had called her a hero.

Jack called her a witch. There was something about the woman. For one thing, he had never really seen the children after they arrived in their new haven, for that matter, no one had. It unnerved Jack just how much she seemed to know about the condition. The exorcist's chants and the doctor's leeches hadn't had the slightest effect but Jyll seemed more confident than all of them put together. It was of little concern to her that the children were incurable.

No, the lady of the house held far darker secrets than anyone could imagine and it would only be a matter of time before anyone discovered them.

Back at home, if he could call it that, Jack put away the vegetables and set to work getting a pot of tea ready for Leigh. Balancing a tray laden with a kettle, her special porcelain tea cup and saucer, sugar and a plate of unsweetened ginger snaps, he made his way to her study. To his surprise, the door was ajar. He rapped his knuckles on the mahogany door and when he got no response, he nervously entered.

The room was empty, which was odd considering that at this time of day, she was always in her study. The window was open and a thick volume lay open upon her desk. Setting the tray down on her table, he averted his eyes from the text. He had been strictly forbidden from looking at any of her written materials. But his eyes seemed to be drawn, as though by magic to what lay on the brown edged pages.

The text wasn't English, he was sure of that. It looked more like Latin to him. But it wasn't the text that drew his attention, it was the illustration that accompanied it. Completely done in black ink, there were a series of images on the pages that seemed to be all related to one another, although he couldn't pinpoint the exact relation. In the centre, there was a horde of animals and beasts that were encircling a human-like creature that appeared to be writhing in pain. Above the macabre scene was a pair of eyes, large with slit-like pupils, staring at the scene below.

So enthralled was he in his musings that he failed to hear the quiet footsteps behind him. "Hello there Jack, I don't suppose that you'd care to explain what you're doing?"

Stumbling backwards, he cursed under his breath, noting the irritation in his employer's eyes. "I…I was just delivering your tea ma'am, like you had asked." She smiled sweetly, "And you weren't having a little peek at my book?" He shook his head frantically. "No, honest I wasn't!"

She stepped closer and closer towards him, the smile still fixed on her face. Finally when he was at arm's length, she reached out and grasped his chin firmly in her delicate hand. "Jack," she murmured quietly, "I must admit, I don't like liars." And with that, she drew her hand back and slapped his cheek. The force of the blow made him stagger backwards. As he regained his balance, he fancied that for a second the nails on her hand looked like the talons on one of the creatures in her book. The stinging in his cheek alerted him to the fact that his cheek seemed slightly wet. Horrified, he lifted a hand to touch his cheek; it came back red.

"Get out," she ordered sharply, "And next time mind you, I won't be quite so kind."

That night, he pinched out the flame on the candle on his nightstand and collapsed into bed. He was exhausted and rightly so in his mind. His nightclothes and bedspread did little to stave off the chill that hung in the air. Tossing and turning, he replayed the events of the day in his head. The look in her eyes was something that he'd not soon forget. But what had piqued his curiosity the most was the foreign emotion that had entered her eyes. He'd almost be bold enough to term it fear. Jack had never seen her lose her control like that before. Gently lifting his fingers to his cheek, he winced again as the cut smarted.

It wasn't too long afterwards that Jack managed to drift off to sleep. Outside, the sky darkened as the clouds drifted past, shielding the light of the moon. The wind picked up ominously and nearby a colony of bats that had been resting flew off into the distance. Floating in his peaceful dream world, he expected to sleep comfortably till morning. But a sudden piercing scream that broke through the silence like a bullet ruined any plans of that. Out of habit, he jolted out of bed, grabbing a pistol that he had kept in the drawer of his nightstand. He raced towards the source of the sound, not even bothering to put on a pair of slippers. From the sound of things, the shriek had its origins in the children's wing. As he reached the old wing, he slowed down almost instinctively, shaking off the strange feeling that crept up on him. It was surely only his imagination that the air here was colder than in the rest of the house.

Just then, a sudden creaking in front of him caught his attention. He cocked his pistol, ready and waiting. The door to one of the rooms opened and out stepped Jyll. She turned and looked at him. Jack lurched, was that…blood on her gloves? She saw where he was looking and muttered, "One of the children has passed away. She had a terrible bout of fits and I needed to restrain her. Now make yourself useful and take the body out. We'll need to bury it in the morning. And put your pistol away, you look like a damned fool. Oh, and Jack," she said, fixing him with her familiar cold stare, "Don't go touching anything else this time, those doors are to remain closed."

Shivering, he went in. Women who died at his own hand were one thing, but children? The girl on the bed was still, pale but her lips were rapidly turning blue. It was Lauren, he subconsciously noted. He was about to pick her up and move her, when he noticed that one of the adjoining doors was not fully closed. It was stupidity he realized, but he needed to know. What was behind those doors that Jyll didn't want anyone else to see?

Quietly, he pushed the brown door open and slithered in. His eyes grew wide and his breathing became labored as he pressed against the wall, sinking to the ground in horror. What was going on? What exactly had he been aiding this monster in achieving? This hero that the town revered, what sorcery, no what dark magic was she indulging in, out of the watchful gaze of her adoring people?

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><p><strong>Boston-Modern Day<strong>

The liquid in the pot bubbled innocuously, almost too serenely for his taste. Scrunching up his nose in frustration, he added a sprinkle of pepper that was sure to make the broth taste better. Another few minutes of quiet simmering and he skimmed off the remaining fat, straining the broth and poured it into bowls. "Il est prêt!" he called out. A large burly man walked in, a grumpy look on his face and placed the bowls on a serving tray. "Speak in English, you twat, you're in England. Or is that too complicated for you?" Not waiting for a reply, he marched back out with the meal, neatly placing some spoons alongside the filled bowls.

Henry, another younger chef smiled apologetically at Francis. "Sorry about Pete. He's just… a bit of a prick really." Francis smiled weakly back. He couldn't care less about Pete or any of his insults. In all honesty he was glad that today's orders had been simple. The consommé had been the most challenging item that anyone had ordered and that was something he was fairly used to preparing. In all honesty, he couldn't concentrate after last night's events. He had spent yet another restless night, tossing and turning in his bed, wondering how the picture in that book could match his apparition so perfectly. Arthur, bless the Brit's heart, had stayed the night again. He had even offered to look after Matthew and Alfred for the day as well, taking them along to see an old friend of his, 'Antonio' if he remembered correctly.

Francis tried extremely hard to quell the burning jealousy that bubbled up within him as he noted how Arthur's gem-green eyes softened at the Spaniard's name. It was painfully obvious that this Antonio was important to Arthur. And that presented his second problem; exactly what was Arthur to Francis? The elusive man had been a constant source of support and comfort over the last few days. He couldn't imagine having put up with these bizarre circumstances without him. Arthur made his heart flutter in a way that no one else had. Not even Marie…But still, he had no way of being sure if the man felt anything for him. Besides was this truly the set of events in which he would find a lover? He had to think of Alfred and Matthew after all. Mais, the way he smiled, it was as if the whole world stopped for just a moment.

Francis was thrown out of his daydreams as a rough shove to his shoulder nearly sent him flying into the stove. "Pete!"scolded Henry angrily, "Honestly, I don't know what to do with you! Are you alright Francis?" He nodded unsurely, trying to get his bearings back. "I'm sorry, were you saying something before?" Henry smiled warmly at him, "Ah yes. We're all going out for a round of drinks after our shift is done. We'd very much like it if you'd join us."

On the one hand, Francis wasn't too enthused by the offer. He was tired, far more interested in trying to sleep than in socializing. On the other hand though, he wondered what the point of mulling over the mystery was. Perhaps making new friends wasn't such an unpleasant idea after all. "Merci," he said, shooting a smirk in Pete's direction, "That sounds wonderful." Before leaving, he dropped off a note with the concierge for Arthur.

There were five of them in the group, Henry, Pete, himself and two other young men whom he didn't know. One was a soft spoken, shy, brown haired man who hailed from Lithuania, Toris, his name was. The other was a delicate looking Chinese man, whose feminine looks hid a feisty temper. Yao Wang was in charge of the hotel's many exotic eastern dishes. They had never really talked much but at the local pub, Francis found himself enjoying the others' company. "So," asked Henry quietly so that only the two of them could hear, "What exactly is the situation between you and Arthur? How long have the two of you been going out?" Francis flushed brightly, "We're not," he mumbled, "I only met him a few days ago. In fact," he added gloomily, "I barely know him at all. I don't even know if he's well, into men." The thought alone was extremely depressing.

Henry looked shocked, "But…you two always are together. And your kids, they look like carbon copies of the two of you. And they love him so much. I thought that…Oh. Well, mate let me tell you, the way that he looks at you? There's nothing to worry about. If he's straight I'll waltz with Pete in a tutu." Francis choked on his beer at the image. "I mean come on now. Didn't you notice yesterday, there was this lady throwing herself at him? Rather well…er…endowed to be nice about it. She would have been a great catch had Arthur been even in the slightest bit interested. I've never seen anyone look that cornered before."

Francis smiled softly, imagination running wild with pictures of Arthur hurriedly and politely trying to dissuade the young woman. "I don't mean to pry, but then…the children? They are yours aren't they?" Francis blinked for a moment before it became clear, Henry was asking about the mother. He closed his eyes; this was always a painful topic for him. "I was married to a beautiful woman once, her name was Marie. She is the mother of Alfred and Matthew." "Were? What happened?"

Francis looked out of the window, "She died."

Arthur meanwhile smiled warmly at the two boys in front of him. Alfred bounced merrily along the road, pointing out a variety of things excitedly, whereas Matthew was far calmer, holding onto his hand, clutching Kumajirou tightly. But he was happy as well. And why not? The weather was simply marvelous, not a cloud in the sky. He'd decided to take the two boys along to meet his good friend Antonio, who had somehow managed to find one of the few Italian restaurants in the city. He smiled to himself, it looked like Toni still had the same addiction to tomatoes then after all these years. Ah…there it was.

A quaint little place, out of view unless you were looking for it, Veneziano's was unassuming but the second that you stepped inside your nostrils would be assaulted by the most heavenly of aromas. Already the boys were whining that they were hungry. "Arturo!" shouted out a familiar voice. Arthur glanced over in the direction of the call and grinned at Antonio. "Hello Antonio, how are you?" "Eh? ¿Qué? Why such a formal greeting amigo?" He glomped Arthur cutting off a large part of his oxygen supply. "Toni," he gasped, "Need to breathe!" "Eh, sorry pal. So…Como estas?" "Not too great," he sighed. Then Antonio's eyes landed on Alfred and Matthew. "And who are these two little tomates? Dios! You had kids? And you never told me?" Holding a now wailing Antonio he idly wondered how Lovino managed every day.

Ten minutes later, he had cleared up the entire thing and Alfred and Matthew sat at another table, coloring pictures. Antonio had already ordered for them. They used the time to catch up.

"Where's Lovino?" "Lovi's at the hotel. He had some work to finish up so he couldn't make it. But he says hola and he'll come next time. So, what's this you were telling me about needing my help?" Arthur looked at him, "Antonio, do you remember in uni, how I was…different than all the other students?" "You mean when you dyed you hair green? Si, I still have the photos of that I think." "No, I mean about the fae…_You told me that you burnt those pictures!_" But Antonio had figured out what he was talking about.

"The fairies? Si, I remember those. I thought that you were loco at first and then that thing got pissed at you and blew a hole in our wall." Arthur chuckled, "I remember that, you nearly had a heart attack. Toni, the thing is I'm not the only one." He gave a meaningful look at the pair who were engrossed in their art. The Spaniard's eyes widened, "Dios mios! I thought that…" Arthur took the book out of his bag and slid it across the table to Antonio. Quietly, he explained what had been happening over the past week. "What do you make of it?" he asked at the end. Idly flipping through the pages, he replied, "I don't know. I've never heard of anything like this before. But I'll tell you one thing, there's something weird about this town. It's like all the public records that they have disappeared about a hundred years ago. Anybody you ask tells you that there was a big fire but the neighboring towns have no record of it. In fact, at that time, they swear that it was rainy season."

Arthur's eyebrows rose, almost vanishing into his hairline, "That is certainly odd. I mean why wouldn't they keep the records of their town. Perhaps they are lying?" "No amigo, it's strange but somehow records of that point of time are all missing, lost even. And no one knows why. It's not the entire set, just that one time period. In fact, I think that this is the only piece of literature that I have seen from that section of history. Do you mind if I hang on to it for awhile?" "Be my guest Toni. But do you think that there's any way you can figure out what's going on?"

"I want to say yes, but I can't promise you anything. Say, did you look under the binding?" At Arthur's puzzled expression he continued, "Under the binding. There's not much to go on about the author right? But sometimes, the rumor was that the writers wrote down their personal details on the spine and then covered it with binding. I can take a look at it back in my hotel. I need my equipment to do it right." "That's fine by me Antonio. Just keep me updated on what you find." The two sat in contemplative silence for awhile until Antonio's gaze shifted to the children. "Arturo…what about this Francis person?"

"There's absolutely nothing to say!" Arthur squeaked out. "Aw, you're blushing! You're just as adorable as you were back in university. And then, have you kissed?" Arthur looked scandalized. "Honestly the man has two children and is being relentlessly pursued by a psychotic spectre. Do you really think the first thing on my mind is to make amorous advances towards him?" Antonio peered at him more seriously now, "Arturo…have you dated anyone since we broke up in university?" The silence said it all. "Mi amigo! Don't tell me!"

Arthur scowled and snorted, "Don't flatter yourself. It has nothing to do with you. I actually couldn't have been happier for you and Lovino. Who do you think made sure that Gilbert didn't follow you two on your first date? As it happens, I was busy after my graduation. Writing really took a good chunk of my time and there was this nasty poltergeist in my old apartment. Wouldn't exactly have made for a romantic setting you know, me bringing a date home and this blasted thing throwing a candelabra at them. Then there's the splendid way of losing your date by explaining to them how there's a rather mischievous blob of ectoplasm floating about in your house but they needn't worry too much because you've charm-locked the sharp pointy objects. So yes, dating wasn't on my agenda. And if you really must know, the right person just never came along."

Antonio opened his mouth to say something when Alfred jumped onto Arthur's lap. "Hello lads," he said fondly as Matthew climbed onto the seat next to him. Alfred grinned toothily and handed him a piece of paper. Antonio sneaked a peek and couldn't stop himself from grinning. Alfred took it upon himself to explain the finer details of the drawing. "See that's me with the cape like Superman and there's Mattie with Kuma and dad with his chef hat and there's you and Flutter too." The crude stick figure of him, he was embarrassed to note, was pecking Francis' cheek. He also had eyebrows that took up a good third of his face, but it was alright he supposed, it was the thought that counted. "Thank you both," he said smiling, ruffling Matthew's hair.

Alfred and Matthew looked extremely proud. Matthew shyly added, "You make Papa happy. He hasn't been this happy since Maman went to heaven." Arthur was shocked; he had no idea that Francis was widowed. "Oh Matthew, I'm sorry." "That's alright, she likes it in heaven. She told us so herself."

It was chilly, Francis thought absentmindedly, wishing that he had brought a jacket with him. The drinks had gone on longer than he had expected. After the somber topic of his ex-wife, the conversation had rapidly changed to more cheerful subjects like work and Pete's non-existent sex life. They were still in the pub but Francis had paid for his drinks and left on his own. He wanted to get back to the hotel and see his family. As a harsh blast of wind tore though the deserted alley, he shut his eyes, cursing under his breath. Something rammed into his ankle almost toppling him over.

He opened his eyes, groaning as he realized that the streetlamps had gone out. Glancing down, he frowned in confusion as he picked up the object that had hit him. It was a small white, children's ball, but it was old-fashioned, much more ornate than the ones they sold nowadays. It was wooden with intricate decorations and was around the size of a basketball. He placed it down and started off again. A few seconds later though, he was startled as the object rolled past him. He ignored it, it was probably the wind, and after all it was pretty strong. Hurriedly, he picked up his pace, pretending not to notice when it rolled past him, again and again. Each time he saw it, his heart beat just a little faster until he could take it no longer. He broke into a run and turned round the street corner. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw that the road was empty and there was no mysterious toy in sight.

"Hey mister…" he felt a small hand tug on his shirt and he turned around slowly. There was a small girl, no older than Alfred, with a thick blonde plait. She wore a white gown and a white sun hat despite the fact that it was dark, "Do you want to play a game?"

Francis' heart nearly gave out as he realized what the girl held in her tiny hands. It was the same white ball. Stepping backwards carefully, he let out a frightened cry as the girl lifted her head slowly, revealing her eyes. They were the same bottomless pools of nothingness from before. Francis was frozen to the spot. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run but he couldn't. It was as though his legs had a mind of their own. The girl smiled, wider and wider, before rolling the ball towards him. She ran away, laughing merrily as she went. Francis couldn't help but realize that her laugh echoed down the street. She stopped at the end of the street. "Come on!" she pleaded, "At least throw it back to me, I'll leave after that I promise!"

Francis relented slightly. In his mind after all, she appeared to be nothing more than a small harmless young girl. As he picked up the toy, he could hear a voice in his head that sounded vaguely like Arthur's telling him that he was a fool. "Here you…Oh!" His eyes widened as the girl was engulfed in flames. Francis was frozen to the spot in horror. "Help me," she pleaded. But he didn't know what to do. That's when he noticed it, although her skin and hair were blackening and charring with the intense heat of the flame, her clothes were unaffected. He was so preoccupied by what was happening in front of him that he didn't realize that his hands were starting to burn as well.

The ball grew steadily hotter until he dropped it in pain. In the distance, he faintly imagined that he could hear a woman scream. But he couldn't be sure anymore and his tired brain finally gave up as he passed out.

Back in the hotel, Arthur was worried. Francis hadn't come back and although he had reassured Alfred and Matthew that there was nothing to worry about, he knew otherwise. Henry, Pete and the others had all returned from the pub ages ago. No, something wasn't quite right. "Flutter," he called out. The petite faery flew into the room; she had been tucking the children in.

"What's wrong Arthur?" she asked worriedly noting the consternation on his face. "Francis still isn't back. I think something is wrong and given the circumstances…Is there anything that you could do?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, "Hm… maybe. There's a sprite in the attic who's got a lot of connections. I'll see what I can do!"

She flew out the window just as Alfred and Matthew sleepily walked in. "Hey you two, you're supposed to be in bed." He scooped up Matthew easily and led Alfred by hand to the bed. Tucking them in, he smoothed Alfred's hair out of his face. "Where's dad?" asked Alfred. "Don't worry lad, he's on his way back. Now, I'm sure he wouldn't want to come back to find the two of you still awake." Alfred had a look of stubborn determination plastered on his face but Matthew threw a slightly despairing one to his side. "I want Kuma!"

Arthur looked all around the room, even getting on his hands and knees and searching under the dresser but he couldn't find the accursed white polar bear. Irritated and tired, he called out, "Oi you stuffed nuisance, where in the seven levels of hell are you?" Admittedly, it wasn't the best language to use around children, but Alfred giggled under his breath. Arthur jumped when Kumajirou slowly dragged itself out from behind the nightstand (hadn't he looked there?) "Didn't expect that did ya now Blondie?" Arthur looked at the thing, "Just what are you exactly?"

The bear sighed desolately, "I used to be an elf, a couple of centuries ago but then I made eyes at the wrong wood nymph and now look where I am. A stuffed bear that keeps children company. Pathetic ain't it?" Arthur noted though that Kuma didn't seem too averse to being used as a cuddle toy by Matthew. By the looks of things, he had grown attached to Matthew, which explained why he hadn't tried to break free of his imprisonment yet. He sighed, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. "All right you three…"

"Arthur, you in mate?" That was Henry, but what on earth could he want so late? He opened the door only to find Henry looking like he had run a mile, with his hair messed up and cheeks flushed, he panted as he tried to catch his breath. "It's bad news Arthur!" he said. Arthur half shut the door, not wanting to alarm the children. "What is?"

"It's Francis. He's in the hospital!"

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><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong>

_Translations: _

Mais- But

Il est prêt- It is ready

Consommé- it's a type of broth, that's pretty complicated to make. The exact recipe and ingredients tend to vary according to the area.

Merci- Thank you.

¿Qué?- What?

Como estas? - How are you?

And that's the next chapter! I'm really sorry for the delay and with all luck, chapter 6 will be out sometime this week! Please review and if there's any mistake in the languages, let me know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Cottage in the woods**

Disclaimer: I still own absolutely nothing. This is a work of fiction meant for non-profit purposes.

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><p><strong>Boston-1890<strong>

Black cats were bad omens. At least, that was what his grandmother had told him. She'd always say that they were creatures of the dark side, meant only for those who used magic and other sacrilegious devices. "Never let one of those horrid things cross your path Jack," she'd told him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, "They'll bring you nothing but misfortune."

It was blocking him, green eyes gleaming malevolently. Taking a step backwards, he swerved on his heel. He had enough bad luck in his life, he didn't need any more. Maybe he could double back at the apothecary and...Hurried footsteps that echoed in the early morning silence ended any doubts he might have had about that. There was no time to go back; besides, he'd done plenty of other things that would make his grandmother turn in her grave.

Taking his chances, he hurtled into the dark alleyway. In the shadowy abysses of his mind, he realized that this was all too familiar. Wasn't this how he had met Jyll in the first place? He turned right at the lamppost and nearly fell to the ground, almost tripping over something. Peering down closely, he swore, it was that bloody fur ball from before. It looked at him and mewled. "Get away from me, you feline menace," he swore and took off again.

She was definitely behind him, how could she not be? Jack had seen enough that night to know that nothing the Yard could do to him compared to what Jyll was capable of. There had been no time for meticulous planning. While he carried Lauren's body to the burial site, he had formulated a strategy in his head. Jyll went out for a walk in the mornings, he would use that time to escape. He's go to the nearest police station and turn himself in. She'd not be able to get to him then; the Yard would most definitely want him to be held in London. And once he got there, if they didn't execute him on the spot, he could find someone who'd listen and tell them about Jyll.

A voice at the back of his mind hissed at him mirthfully, mocking him. He knew that it was foolhardy but it was the only thing he could do. Sooner or later, Jyll would grow tired of him. But she wouldn't kill, no, from what he had seen, killing him would be far too merciful for Jyll Leigh. As soon as the woman was out of sight, he had grabbed his pistol and run. And now she was after him. But it wasn't to silence him, she knew that no one would believe him.

Jack had taken something before leaving, the book that lay open on her study table. He didn't know why he had done it, but he knew it needed to be done.

"Jack, you can't keep running forever!" That all too familiar screeching voice drew him out of his reverie. It was at that moment, when the clock chimed four that Jack knew somehow that she'd catch up with him. Running past the bookstore, he was surprised to see the door opening; a young man was entering the shop. Long blond hair tied up with a ribbon, bangs framing his face, that was surely Adalric, the German man who was close friends with that eccentric writer. The rumor mill had no dearth of scandalous whispers regarding the mysterious pair. As he watched the man fumble with the handle, a flash of inspiration burned brightly in his mind. Surely, she'd never think of looking there.

Adalric sighed, tiredly turning the handle. His hands were numb with the cold, it was far too cold and early to be up and about, but there were some books that needed binding and Aeulus was ill. He couldn't expect him to help at all. Maybe he could catch some sleep before the crowd came in. He was just about to set foot into his small shop when a rough grasp on his shoulder whirled him around. Gasping he opened his mouth to cry out, when something was thrust into his hands. "Keep this safe, where no one will find it! Get inside and don't come out! That woman, she's the one behind the sickness!" He was violently shoved into the shop and his strange attacker made his departure.

Latching the door, he peered out cautiously through from a slit in the curtains. "What in the world?" he murmured to himself. Through the thick fog that still clung to the earth, he could vaguely make out the silhouette of a cloaked woman racing after the man. As he ran his finger idly over the book, he watched enthralled as she passed under the light of a streetlamp. Adalric couldn't make out much, except that her cloak fell below her knees.

Rubbing his eyes, he took another look at her shadow, but she was already gone. Surely, he must have mistaken what he had seen. The lack of sleep and lighting must be playing tricks on him, because there was certainly no chance that he had seen correctly. The woman's shadow was not what he had expected, instead, in its place was a horned beast, with giants wings like those in the stories he had heard as a child.

Oh Aeulus would love this.

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><p><strong>Boston-Modern Day<strong>

Arthur hated hospitals. Theoretically, he figured that no one really had any great affinity for the place but that didn't stop him from despising the white walls and tense environment. He had spent quiet a lot of time in hospitals, with countless doctors and psychiatrists trying to find out what was wrong with him. He absentmindedly rubbed a spot on his arm, where they had stuck an IV drip in him once during a particularly lengthy stay in one facility.

The receptionist looked bored and tired, he couldn't blame her, it was quite late. "Excuse me," he asked her politely, "Which room is Mr. Bonnefoy in?" She smacked her gum and stashed her magazine to the side with a sigh. Scrolling through some files on the computer screen, she asked him, "You related?" Arthur shook his head; he'd left both the boys back with Henry. "I'm a friend, there aren't really any relations of his in England." The receptionist looked reluctant, "Well…I'm not supposed to let anyone who's not related to him see him, but I suppose you can go. He's in room 412, you'll need to sign in."

"That's quite strict isn't it?" "Yes, well the police want to talk to him." His eyes widened, "The police? Whatever for?" The receptionist look faintly skeptical, "You mean you didn't hear? Well, the doctor will fill you in." Taking back the register from him, she picked up her magazine, apparently the conversation was over. Shaking his head, he made his way to the elevator; he'd make the right decision not bringing Alfred and Matthew here. But what had happened? Henry had only told him that Francis had been found injured on the road and that he'd been admitted to the Boston Health Clinic.

He flinched when he walked into the room. Francis looked exhausted and his hands were both bandaged. His messy blond hair was fanned out across the pillow and he lay quietly in his bed. He made his way silently to the man, not wanting to disturb him, idly he pushed a wayward strand away from his forehead noting absently to himself how restless the other seemed. The sound of someone's throat being cleared made him pull his hand away as though it had been burned and he flushed at the doctor's knowing smile.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to disturb you. I'm the doctor that attended to Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur shook hands with the man who looked like he was in his mid-forties. "How is he? What exactly happened?" The grey-haired man shook his head, "We're not quite sure. He was found on the road, passed out. There's no serious damage mind you, but strangely enough his hands were burned. I've bandaged them, it's nothing too serious, you'll need to change them twice a day and I'll get you the salve to apply for the burns. I'd also like him to avoid any extra usage of his hands for the next two or three days just to be on the safe side. Bed rest tomorrow is a must, I'm afraid he's suffering from a mild concussion. But other than that, he'll be just fine."

There was something that the man wasn't telling him, Arthur was sure of it. Then the receptionist's words drifted through his memory. "I was told the police would like to interview him?" Shifting uncomfortably, the doctor adjusted his coat before replying, "Ah yes. There's that matter. Mr…" "Kirkland," he replied sharply, ignoring the fact that he was probably being rude. "Mr. Kirkland, does your friend have a tendency to indulge in alcohol?"

"Not that I know off. Why?" "That's what I suspected. According to the report that his friend filed, he was returning from a pub. But, the level of alcohol in his blood was too low to be a reason in this occurrence. But then, this doesn't answer your question does it? You see Mr. Kirkland, a witness, the same one who phoned the paramedics, reported seeing a young girl go up in flames immediately after talking to Mr. Bonnefoy. There's no trace of this child now."

"You can't honestly believe that he had anything to do with it!" "What I believe or do not believe is of little consequence. The police need to speak with him and should be arriving shortly." He excused himself and Arthur collapsed back into the uncomfortable metal folding chair. "I didn't do anything to her."

Arthur almost toppled off the chair as he whipped around to look at Francis. "You're awake!" "Oui, I am. But, you must believe me! I didn't harm her. Je pense que, she was like that woman I saw at the piano." "You mean another ghost?" "Oui," replied Francis, staring up at the ceiling.

"You shouldn't mention that to the police, it won't look too good. They're coming to interview you in a bit you know." Francis looked at him worriedly, "Arthur, tu…tu me crois non?" He jerked upwards, trying to pull himself into a sitting position and swayed unsteadily. "Whoa," said Arthur, hands clasping the man's shoulders, helping him sit upright.

"Don't overdo it, you're still weak, you need to be careful. Of course I believe you thick-headed fool. Haven't you been paying attention these past few days?" Francis flushed and it was then Arthur noted their proximity. He could see his reflection in the Frenchman's deep blue eyes. Slowly, he began to bridge the gap between them, finishing what they had started in the hotel room.

It wasn't great. Arthur was nervous and Francis' lips were more than a little chapped, there was also the slightest coppery taste of blood. He'd hardly imagined that their first kiss would be here of all places (not that he'd been imagining this moment, of course not!), with the smell of disinfectant lingering in the background and some awful soap on the telly. The cold metal of the chair was pressing into his back in a very uncomfortable manner and his arm was going numb. No, it wasn't great, yet the single slice of heaven that the instant provided, it was nothing short of perfect.

Knocking on the door yanked away from his bliss, and he pecked the injured man's lips once more. They'd need to talk about this later he thought ruefully, but for now he'd be satisfied with what had happened. "Come in," he called, at Francis' nod. The door swung open and a tall, blond man walked in. Oddly enough, Arthur thought he looked vaguely familiar.

"Good evening Mr. Bonnefoy, I am with the local police. I hope that you are feeling well enough to answer some questions." The man had a strong German accent and Arthur racked his brain to figure where he had seen him before.

"Yes, I will do my best." Francis answered. "Excellent, now if you'd be so kind as to recount what happened to your best ability?" Francis did, explaining everything that he could. At the end of the narrative, the officer, who'd been jotting down notes tapped his pen and said, "You'd never seen this girl before?" "Mais non! I'm new to this area. I just arrived a week ago." "How much did you have to drink?"

"Monsieur, I assure you, I had half a mug of beer. I wasn't even, comme vous dites, tipsy! I am most certain of what I saw happen." Francis looked indignant and Arthur couldn't blame him. Sighing, the man rubbed his light blue eyes tiredly, "Ja there was a witness whose account is very similar to yours. And this is not the first time." He cut off awkwardly, apparently having forgotten that he had an audience. "What do you mean?" asked Arthur suspiciously. "Nein, it's nothing." he said, trying to feign nonchalance. Francis snapped, "Mon Dieu! What is going on? You come here and interrogate me like I am some common criminal, yet you won't give me even a little information. How do I know that my sons are safe? I don't even know your name! Je ne sais pas si you are with the police!"

The officer colored, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you. My name is Ludwig, Ludwig Beilschmidt." That's when it hit him, "Hang on, do you have a brother?" Ludwig looked at him confused, "Ja, an elder one. Why?" Grinning, he said, "So you're the famous 'West' eh? Nice to meet you. The name's Arthur Kirkland, I went to university with Gilbert."

Ludwig's bright blue eyes widened, "You are the one who helped him when his bird was ill? And threatened to throw him out of a window?" Francis looked at the now blushing man then back at the officer. "He showed me a photo of you, but I did not recognize you. Your hair is different now."

"Yes, well, I was going through a phase in those days." he said scowling. "Look, you need to tell us what in blazes is going on! I know that it may seem like we're complete lunatics but in all honesty I'm sure that there's something that you're not telling us. Something that's most important in all of this."

Diverting his eyes from the blond's furious gaze, he said, "You did not hear it from me, but his account," he said, jerking his head towards Francis' direction, "Is not unique." "You mean there are other people whom this has happened to?" "Ja. There have been reports of people seeing young children like this, mostly in the same area disappearing in a similar manner. What's more, there have been instances off late where some of the city's children have gone missing. But none of them are the ones spotted on the streets. More bizarrely, every one of the reports mentions some sort of fire, and Bonnefoy isn't the first one to end up in medical care after such an encounter."

"Do you have any idea why this is happening to us?" "No. There hasn't been the slightest hint as to why this is happening at all. We tried looking for precedents but we haven't been able to find anything in the town's local records." Inhaling sharply Arthur gasped, "The fire! There was a fire wasn't there? One that wiped out a good deal of documents." Surprised, Ludwig inquired, "How did you know about that?" "I have my ways. But what happened to these people? The other ones like Francis."

Ludwig's grip on his pen tightened, his knuckles turned white with the pressure. "Many left, not wanting to tempt fate. I've heard that in most cases, distance was the only cure." "And those that didn't leave?" "They were found dead."

The ride back was uncomfortable at best. Arthur didn't know what to say and Francis didn't want to say anything. He was content with staring out of the window, every so often muttering under his breath in rapid French that Arthur couldn't even begin to fathom. Arthur was very happy that the bus wasn't crowded. "How are Alfred and Matthieu?" he asked suddenly. "They're alright. I left them with Henry. They were worried sick about you." Laughing bitterly, Francis said, "I suppose that they should be non?"

"Don't be like that! You heard Ludwig, the people that left escaped whatever this is." "I can't leave Arthur. It was hard enough to find a job after Marie…" he cut off, biting his lip. "After Marie passed away?" Arthur guessed, "The boys told me." He slung his arm around Francis' shoulder for support, smiling with pleasure when Francis unconsciously leaned into his embrace.

"It was an arranged marriage, our parents knew each other and we were both of the marriageable age. Neither of us opposed it, we were friendly enough and I had never truly pictured settling down with a man. Then we had Alfred and Matthieu and we thought that would cement our relationship. But, things got harder as the days went by. We could not see eye to eye, whether it was about where to raise the boys, where to eat, who was not doing enough at home. There was never a spark to begin with so I don't suppose I could say that it fizzled out. We didn't want to file for a divorce but eventually, we both needed some time away from the other.

By this time, Alfred had started seeing things and Marie, she was not emotionally equipped enough to deal with that. So she thought that it would be better to separate the children. She would take Matthieu and go to Canada where she had family whereas I would remain in France with Alfred. The boys were devastated at the separation but she felt it was for the best at least to protect Matthieu. We went to the United States for a year, to see a doctor there about Alfred but nothing worked. One day, while we were talking on the phone, we had an argument, a bad one. I… we both, said things that never should have been said. After that, she was livid; Marie always had a temper on her. She went out for a drive to calm herself. It was raining, the roads were slippery and she was not in her senses… I picked up Matthieu a day after that.

The boys don't know and they don't need to yet. They know she went to heaven but…" "Francis, do you really think that it's ok for them to continue carrying feelings of dislike against their own mother?" He leaned his head on the other man's shoulder contemplatively. "This job, it was the first one I'd managed to obtain after everything. That's why I can't leave. I may not be able to get another job after this and should I prove unsuitable to care for them, social services would have no problem in taking them away from me. I can't lose my sons, I just can't!"

Arthur let his chin rest on his head, "I know, and you won't lose them. I won't let you."

He didn't sleep that night, spending what was left of it sitting near the window. Francis was fast asleep with Alfred and Matthew safe in his arms and that was enough for him for now. Silently, he ran his fingers over the buttons of his cell phone, the glow from it casting eerie shadows over his pale face. His finger hovered over the call button as he stared at one number on his call list. Llyr wasn't exactly someone he talked to on a day to day basis but maybe he'd know what to do. He was the only other person he knew that could use any form of magic. But calling him would mean that Arthur was too weak to do anything on his own and his brothers would never allow him to live it down. True his relationship with Iain had improved over the years but that didn't mean things were wonderful with the others.

He glanced at Francis again, the stark white bandages stood out against the deep blue of the bedspread. He looked again at his face and remembered their kiss in the hospital. This wasn't the time to be too concerned about his pride; there were bigger, more important things at stake. He pressed lightly on the button, almost enough to call but not quite.

"Shit," he swore, nearly dropping the phone when it began flashing. He stole out of the room silently, "Hello?" he asked. "Arturo! ¡Gracias a dios! I thought that you'd be sleeping." Arthur scowled although he knew that the other man couldn't see him. "Antonio, do you have any clue what time it is?" "Si, I'm sorry amigo, but it's about that book you gave me, I think I might have found something!" "What? Are you serious? That's wonderful! What is it?" "I pulled off the cover and checked, I can't find any mention of the author's name, but there was this map that was hidden under the back of the book."

"Map? What does it lead to?"

"I did some research, this book helped a lot. From what I could find, about a hundred years ago, children started getting sick and no one knew why. Some woman looked after them, but no one ever saw them after that. One of the townsfolk must have wizened up to her after awhile, because they took a book from her. Whoever that person was gave it to the person who wrote this book. It must have been really important because she chased the guy to some bridge and then no one knows how it happened but he died. Before he did though, he told everyone around them that she was a witch. The people believed him and I think they burned her at the stake. That's where the story ends."

"That's interesting Toni, but what does that have to do with the map?" "This person was smart. He realized the importance of the book, it couldn't be kept in the city, in plain view. There's a cottage somewhere, where they've kept it and this map will lead us to the cottage." "Not 'us' Toni. There's no way I'm getting you and Lovino any more involved in this mess. That's strange that you should mention the children though." "¿Por qué"

Quickly, he filled his friend in on what had happened. "Arturo, this sounds dangerous. Maybe you should just leave it be." He bit his lip; he knew Antonio was probably right. After all, he had enough paranormal activity in his life without this but, "Toni, I can't." "It's this Francis person isn't it?" "Yes."

Antonio sighed on the other end, making Arthur wince at the rush of static. "He'd better be good-looking amigo." Grinning he said, "Oh trust me. He is."

The good thing about the weekend was that Francis had some time off. Francis agreed without the slightest bit of hesitation that they'd need to search for the cottage. Arthur was a little worried, after all Francis had just been in the hospital not a day ago.

And so it was decided, Alfred and Matthew would be under the care of Antonio and Lovino. Arthur and Antonio had pored over the map, discerning that the cottage was located in the Bradley Woods. "Figures that they'd have their cottage in a haunted wood."Arthur murmured. Once the issue of location had been sorted out, there was the problem of transport. Railways would only get them so far, it was about a two hour journey to Bradley. But they were on their own in the forest.

While Francis was in his room, he packed every day, ordinary things for their journey. A spare change of clothes, some food, a first aid kit, but when he was gone, he stuffed in the important items. A few spell books, chalk, holy water, some dried herbs and an amulet. Arthur knew better than anyone else, one always had to be prepared.

"Do you think we'll be able to find it?" Francis asked softly, watching the countryside whizz by outside. Arthur shrugged, "We'll never know unless we try."

The forest wasn't as thick as he'd expected, but then again they were only at the edge. The map was clutched firmly in his hand and the amulet was slung across his neck, unseen by his companion. Crudely drawn, he'd only just managed to find the start of the trail. Moving quickly, so as to cover as much ground as they could while it was light, he idly wondered if they'd ever bring up the topic of what had happened in t he hospital. Things were slightly different now though, if the lingering touches and fleeting gazes were anything to go by.

The deeper they went, the thicker the woods got. Arthur caught Francis just before he tripped over a root and fell. "Merci," he said tiredly, sweeping his hair from his face. Noting the slightly worried look on Francis' face, he took the man's hand in his own and squeezed it lightly. "It's going to be ok. We'll find it."

Their progress slowed as they went further, coming to a crawl as the woods began to darken. Arthur knew that it would get dark faster because the trees were blocking the sunlight, but he hadn't expected it to happen so fast.

Soon, it was pitch dark and the still air around began to become cold. There was no sign of the cottage around them anywhere. "Arthur," Francis ventured tentatively, "I think we have a problem." "I know there's no point continuing like this, is there? I can barely make out anything from this map even with the flashlight. Maybe we should just stop here and start again tomorrow when we have more light. What's wrong?" he asked, noting the fear in Francis' eyes.

"This tree, does it look familiar to you?" He nodded at a gnarled oak near them. Arthur studied it closely and then shook his head, "No, why? Should it?"

"Arthur, we've passed that same tree three times already. We're lost aren't we?"

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><p>AN: There are no translations for this chapter because I think that I've used the words before and most of it is self explanatory.

Adalric is Germania and Aeulus is Rome.

There really is a ghost in the Bradley Woods apparently, the Black Lady of Bradley woods.

Well, that's it for chapter 6! Don't forget to review you guys, even if it's a smiley face!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: A Page in History**

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything, my country would exist in the series.

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><p><strong>Boston-1890<strong>

If there was one thing that he loathed about the weather at this time of year, it was the blasted mist that had a tendency to cling to the earth. Thick and damp, it slowly seeped through the fabric of your clothes and chilled you to the very bone. The biggest problem about it was its near opacity; you couldn't see more than a few feet in front of your own nose, which wasn't a very ideal situation in the dark of the early morning. Jack's visibility had been reduced to nearly nothing and he now relied almost entirely on his hands to help him navigate the maze of streets. When his fingertips brushed against a smooth, cold metal railing, he realized that he had reached the old bridge.

An idea dawned on him, needless to say, it wasn't even remotely foolproof. There were more things that could go wrong with his harebrained scheme than that which could go right. But it didn't matter because it was the only course of action he had. Near the bridge was the local church, which was a large splendid work of architecture. Jack himself had never visited the famed site, having given up on religion and God many years ago, but he had heard a great many tales of the stone building. Built on top of an ancient Norman site, the Stump as it was called was allegedly what had given the town its name. Perhaps such a holy place would be able to offer him at least a temporary refuge from his pursuer. Surely she wouldn't be able to follow him there as well.

Stumbling, he just managed to right himself and shakily made his way across the narrow path. He gripped the railing tightly not wanting to lose his grasp and fall. Although he still couldn't make it out, he knew that below him, the waters of the River Witham drifted by, deceptively peaceful. His concentration knew no limits, one foot in front of the other, he told himself. That was the only way out of this conundrum.

He was around halfway across when something soft and furry brushed past his hand. Letting out a startled cry, he drew his hand back as though it had been burnt. A cursory glance of his surroundings yielded no evidence as to the identity of his culprit and he decided to press forward. After all, there were other things to worry about, he decided. But he had barely taken two steps forward when a soft noise caught his attention.

Jack's head whipped around in horror, he was sure of it, it was the sound of a cat purring. He could just about discern the silhouette of a cat through the mists. In fact, by his estimation, it was the same feline that he had laid eyes on not more than an hour ago. Licking its paw, it gazed up at him and mewled. "Get out of here, you mangy fur ball!" he hissed, turning around to continue.

"Why Jack, you're not being very nice now are you? After all, it's _just _a cat." His eyes grew large and his breathing became labored. He had seen the cat, he was sure of it, but that voice…it was her voice. Nervously, he scrambled backwards till he was pressed up against the railing. It pressed into his lower back uncomfortably but he didn't have time to be bothered with that. The clock struck five and he noted subconsciously that the mist was beginning to clear slightly. Casting a hopeful glance behind him, he searched for any of the kindly townsfolk who could possibly help him. But there were none.

His mind drifted to one of his later victims, a pretty young thing he remembered with thick brown hair and seemingly endless legs. What had she said? Oh that's right, she'd told him, venom lacing her tone, that he'd regret all his actions. When the time came, he would be left alone like a dog to die. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it, he'd simply cut out her tongue. But now, he wasn't too sure. Perhaps this is what she had meant, and here he was now, atoning for his sins.

He risked another glance at the cat only to have his heart practically stop. Gone was the four-legged annoyance, in its place stood none other than Jyll Leigh. Smirking at him lazily, she held her hand out. "Give it to me Jack, and I might consider killing you quickly." As the sky began to lighten, the church bell tolled and Jack listened, entranced by the clanging metal. The dull, reverberating echo reminded him of something; every morning at 5:15, the church held its morning mass. Surely, then there would be at least some members of the congregation who would arrive early.

"The book Jack! Now!" Jyll's voice had long since lost its bemused tone, now it held only impatience and anger. She stepped forward. "Jack," she shouted, her eyes blazing with fury, "Don't be a bigger fool than you already are." Swallowing thickly, he came to one of the most difficult decisions that he had ever had to make. In the blink of an eye, he was balanced precariously on the railing. Arms outstretched, he looked like a drunkard who'd had too much at the pub. He looked at her, determined to make sure that she would never get him. "Get down from there!" she screamed, "What can you hope to achieve?"

Taking a deep breath, he yelled as loudly as he could, "It was her!" Somewhere behind him, he heard hushed whispers and stifled screams from some of the elderly women who had been heading to church. As they glanced up at what they perceived to be a crazed lunatic, he repeated, "It was her! Your children, she never wanted to help them! All she was after was the life that flowed in their veins. Ask her what happened to all of them! Ask her what happened to Lauren, to Cedric, to Scott…to any of them! But, each of you is to blame as well. Not one of you abandoned your cowardliness and every visited your children. Not one of you will admit your faults. Have none of you ever wondered just what happened to them after they entered her house?

She's a monster! I can tell you that for sure, because I too am a monster. I'm not sorry for what I've done nor will I ever be but I'll be damned if I let her catch me. I lived my life on my own terms and I will end my life on my own terms as well!" With that, he allowed his eyes to meet hers, something that he had avoided for so long. The feeling of fear was replaced by one of numbness. Slowly, he moved his feet backwards and let himself fall. In the background, he could hear her screaming, "Where is it? Where have you hidden it?" But the rush of wind soon blocked her out, hiding the screams of the bystanders.

His impact with the water was painful. He could feel more than a few bones shatter and the wind was knocked out his lungs. The river was frigid and the water took no time to soak through his clothes, the thin fabric doing little to protect him. Jack was sure that by now, his skin would be bluish at the very least. The water was like a thousand piercing needles, each scratching away a little of his soul. Deeper and deeper he sank, the water pulling him down to its murky depths. All around him, the world slowly darkened and the noise from above the river was drowned out by the gurgling liquid around him. His lungs burned, screaming for air and his throat closed up.

Each passing minute made the cold even more unbearable. Jack had once heard that when you were about to die, your life flashed before your very eyes. Whoever had said that was partially right. He could see his mother, pottering around in her garden and berating him for not eating his vegetables. He could see each of victims, clear as day from the moment that he laid eyes on them to the time when he lulled them into a false sense of security. Every murder he had committed, each slash, each cut, each careful movement played out in front of him like a play in a theater. Amused, he let his eyes flutter shut and his world dissolved into black. He sank to the bottom of the river. It was over for now. It would be another week before anyone could pull his corpse from the riverbed.

* * *

><p><strong>Boston-Modern Day<strong>

The small fire that Arthur had managed to coax into existence crackled merrily in front of him. Occasionally he prodded at it with a stick, stoking it to keep it going. Glancing over the flames, he looked at Francis, who was quietly eating one of the sandwiches they had packed. Arthur winced at how exhausted he was looking; the doctor had demanded relaxation and rest, not trekking in some godforsaken wood like this. The map wouldn't be of much help until they found the cottage now and he was well and truly stuck. He had heard…things…about the forest. Stories about a restless spirit who wandered through the region. It wouldn't end well if they met her, especially now when they were tired and unprepared.

He wasn't a master navigator and he was working with little more than a few squiggles on a sheet of paper. The thought irked him and he stabbed viciously at the pile of wood. "Taking out your anger on defenseless dead wood isn't going to be of much, mon lapin." Arthur started; he hadn't thought Francis was paying him any attention. Flushing, he muttered, "Um…yes I apologize for that momentary poor performance."

Smiling warmly at him, Francis stood up and moved closer to where Arthur was. He sat down next to the Brit, who now was sure he was so red that he could be seen from another planet, and placed his head on Arthur's shoulder. "Is this alright?" he asked, yawning tiredly. "Yes, of course. But you'll need to lie down soon, that's not to say that I don't want you here, but it's for your health and…well." Francis' smile took on a far more amused air. "Just when I think that you can't get any cuter, you go out of your way to surprise me." He pressed a small kiss to Arthur's cheek. "You shouldn't worry too much; I know you'll find a way out of this."

It didn't take long for Francis to drift off; Arthur's hand having found its way around the slender man's waist, but Arthur himself remained wide awake, thinking over his words. There was one option that he hadn't considered fully yet. According to what he knew, Bradley Woods was part of Britain's ancient forests, and looking around, many of the trees appeared sufficiently aged to be 'inhabited'. He'd need to wait till tomorrow morning to carry out his plan. For now, he was content with letting his head drop down on Francis'. He shut his eyes and let the silence wash over them, this was pure bliss.

Morning came too quickly in Francis' opinion. Opening his blue eyes, he noted that at some point Arthur must have helped him lie down on the ground and covered him with a blanket. The fire was out and the Brit was nowhere to be seen. Slowly getting to his feet, he winced at the condition of his bandages; those would really need to be changed soon. He could faintly make out Arthur's voice, but he couldn't figure out where he was exactly. Following the sound of his voice, he came upon a most peculiar sight. There was Arthur, in the shade of a gnarled old oak tree, waving his hands around in a most absurd manner. He occasionally stopped to point at the air and seemed to be talking to something in an animated fashion, although he couldn't make out what.

Suddenly he stopped, arms frozen in the air and turned towards where Francis was hidden. The Frenchman let out a gasp, his eyes blazed with power; the previously bright green eyes were now almost painful to look at. Arthur beckoned him forward. It was only when he began to talk that Francis saw a bit of the usual Arthur that he was so used to. "This is Francis, the one I was telling you about." he said, nodding at the tree. "Francis, this is Lady Eleanor. She is a dryad, the tree spirit that inhabits this tree. She's agreed, most kindly, to lead us to the cottage."

As they gathered their things, Arthur quietly whispered into Francis' ear, "They tend to be rather temperamental at times, it's best to watch what we say around them." Nodding slowly, Francis tried to ignore the feeling of the warm breath that ghosted across the shell of his ear.

On and on they went, the trail that they were following curved in bizarre patterns, Francis wondered whether they were really going to get anywhere like. Suddenly Arthur stopped, "Thank you very much milady," he said, smiling warmly at a spot above his head. Francis looked around; he couldn't see anything at all. Then Arthur pushed back some of the thick bushy growth in front of them.

There stood one of the most dilapidated huts he had ever seen. It was small and as he brushed some cobwebs out from the doorway, he gazed inside. It was almost painfully obvious that no one had been here in a long time. The cottage was sparsely furnished, with a few comfy looking chairs, a table and piles of books and manuscripts. Flipping through a book, he started when Arthur called to him. "What is it?" Arthur merely pointed at what he was holding. It was an old, black and white photo, browning at the edges. Two men stared back at the camera. One had lighter hair, with a serious look upon his face while the other had dark hair and a huge grin upon his face.

On the back, in messy almost illegible scrawl was 'Adalric and me'. Scrunching up his impressive eyebrows, Arthur said, "I think…I think these may be the people that wrote the book that we found in the library." Shaking his head, he added, "We've got an hour and a half before a dryad comes to take us out of the woods. She says it's not safe to stay here too long and I agree. The map says that Adalric kept their most prized possessions in a box that he placed near his bed. It's a good idea to start there."

Sure enough, they found it. Wooden, much of the carved design had been worn away by the sands of time. Although it was locked, Arthur murmured something under his breath and the lock clicked open. Inside, the box was lined by red velvet. It held a small locket, leather bound book and a sheaf of papers untidily tied together.

"This is it," Arthur said darkly, holding the book in his hand. "How do you know?" Francis asked bewildered. He hadn't even opened the book. "See that mark there, near the bottom. That's a sign of dark magic. Not that ridiculous pop culture nonsense that these kids believe in, but actual black magic. This sign signifies a pact with the devil himself. It's not to be taken lightly." He started to go through the unpleasant material, leaving Francis alone.

He decided to spend his time going through the sheaves of paper. Aeulus was apparently the writer, while Adalric was a travelling book salesman of sorts. Francis smiled softly at Adalric's words. He had written about their courtship, their love, their illicit relationship; everything that he could express on paper and then some. But slowly, the matter became darker. Francis read how on one fateful morning, Adalric had a strange book thrust into his hands by an unknown man. That man took his own life within an hour. The town went into a frenzy, everyone was suspicious.

Aeulus had already been sick when this chaos had begun, but he didn't recover.

'_He is weaker today. He won't let me see, that fool. He thinks he can hide his illness from me. But he is tired. So I am thinking of shifting with him into the small cottage that we built in the forest. It is far from this madness and he will be able to rest. As for this book, no one will venture into a haunted wood. I shall continue later, Aeulus' fever has risen once more._'

'_It has been nearly two months. Now, he can barely move out of bed, yet he never fails to smile. He told me that I should leave him here to die. That fool, doesn't he understand that my heart only beats for him? No amount of medicine or treatment is helping and I privately fear that everyday will be his last. There is something else though. Sometimes, I think I see strange shadows pass by the door. I don't tell Aeulus, he needs his rest._'

'_There was a fire in the village. A messenger sent word. They burnt that woman today. Something is wrong I can feel it._'

'_It_ _will not be long now. He has not opened his beautiful eyes even once today. I have decided, once he is….gone, I shall go back to his family. They deserve to know what happened. I shall leave the book here. I have done my part._'

There were no further entries, but Francis found himself on the verge of tears. "What's wrong?" Arthur asked worriedly. Explaining to him what he had read, he asked, "Is it possible that, this woman whom he speaks of, she cursed Aeulus?"

"It seems highly possible. She was working on some rather unsettling spells according to this book. But I can't be sure Francis. In those days, a lot of people got sick."

Francis buried his head in Arthur's chest, leaving the Brit to wrap his arms around him. "It's not fair." he mumbled. "I know," Arthur said, "Life is short though. Sometimes, things happen that we can never prepare for." A flicker near his eyes drew his attention.

"Come on Francis, let's go home."

* * *

><p>Putting down the phone, Antonio swore. Arthur would be beyond pissed off at him, that was for sure. He had given him strict instructions that should the pair not return from the woods within two days; Antonio would need to call Llyr. That's how Antonio knew he was serious, Arthur would never willingly call his Welsh elder brother for help. He and Lovino had bid the pair farewell and both Francis' sons behaved brilliantly. But on the second day, fear crept into Antonio's stomach, it felt like eating bad tomatoes. Arthur was in way over his head this time. Even if they made it back safely within the time limit they had established, that didn't mean that they'd be able to solve everything on their own. And… Arthur was his friend, he worried about him. It was an easy decision. He had called Llyr and after a terse conversation, the man had said he'd catch the first train there. What had surprised Antonio was his parting line, "Why didn't that brat call me when this mess started in the first? I'm his elder brother."<p>

Sighing, he went back into the main room. Lovi and he had taken the two boys to a bookstore. While he was working, Lovi was helping the boys read story books. Alfred bounced up to him, "I gotta go!" he said. Laughing, Antonio took his hand and led him to the men's room. He patiently waited for Alfred. And waited. And waited.

After ten minutes, he got worried. "Alfred? You alright in there?"

There was no response. Now slightly frantic, he tapped on the door, eventually banging on the door. But there was no sound from inside. Finally, he managed to slam it hard enough with his shoulder for it to open. It flew open with a bang and crashed against the nearby wall.

The stall was empty and the boy was gone. On the floor lay a small piece of paper. On it, a pair of large eyes glared at him. But there was not even the slightest trace of Alfred.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>And there's the next chapter! Bradley Woods is actually listed as a part of Britain's ancient forests. I wanted to put the scene in the Wash but decided against it. I also realized that there was no mention of Flutter in this chapter, she's with Kumajirou and Matthew.

Feedback would be highly appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Smoke and Mirrors**

**Disclaimer:** I still own absolutely nothing in this.

Edit: I've changed some of the wording and the spacing which should hopefully make things easier to read and improve the flow. The next chapter should be hopefully be up soon.

**Warnings: Slight morbidity.**

* * *

><p>Thick acrid smoke clouded her lungs and she coughed, tears of hate stinging her eyes. The jeering of the crowds filled her ears, but she paid little notice to their meaningless words. She would not give them the satisfaction of a response. After all, it wasn't like she was afraid of what they would do to her. No, the faint tremor of panic that she failed to suppress was that which arose when she thought of what the Master would do when he learned of her failure. Not that he wouldn't know. The Master always seemed to know everything.<p>

Around her were the corpses of the young children once entrusted into her care. The townsfolk, the foolish mob, had heeded Jack's dying words and on entering her manor, had found their beloved. But they were horrified at what they saw. They were neither dead nor alive; floating in some world in between and the spark of life and youthfulness that once filled their eyes was gone. Indeed, many of the children who had been in her care for longer periods of time had nothing but empty black space where their eyes had once been.

The men had tried calling them, pulling them and invoking the name of God, but it was to no avail. The children did not respond and many pulled back, treating their family as though they were enemies. One or two of them even turned violent, biting and scratching the men. The local pastor was called in, and he with a heavy heart declared them possessed. Turning to the crowd he had announced, "There is an unspeakable evil, the name of whom I dare not utter. It is that evil that consumes these children and it is that evil which caused the Disease, which took away our own flesh and blood from us."

Exorcisms and prayers failed to produce any result and when one child managed to claw at the pastor's face, drawing blood with a gruesome pleasure, they knew there was no hope for salvation. The children were rounded up and doused with kerosene and set on fire. As they burned, the congregation recited prayers for them, strewing the ground and their bodies with sacred herbs so that their souls could rest in peace.

And then came the small matter of dealing with Jyll Leigh. It was evident without a shred of a doubt that she was the one responsible for all their misfortune. Thus, there could be no true solution that did not involve her demise. It was only fitting therefore that she also be sacrificed at the altar, as an atonement for her sins, be it a willing sacrifice or not. Jyll was unprepared for the sweet, little old lady from down the road to press an equally sweet smelling cloth to her face. When she woke up, she found herself unable to move, tied to a wooden beam. Struggling, she screamed in fury.

"This is no less than what you deserve!" called out one woman. "You took our children. You promised to make them better and yet you stole their very life! What harm have they done you?"

She spat at the woman, "You common riffraff will never understand. It's so easy for you; you carry out your day to day lives, so unaware of what happens around you. For you, your world is singularly located in this one damned town. But I have had a taste for power, for true happiness and might. And I was, no am willing to do anything in my ability to obtain that power. No one, not you or your husband or any fool from this accursed place will stand in my way. These children served their purpose well. After all, the life of a child, sweet and untainted in its innocence is the most powerful of all, wouldn't you agree?"

She grinned when the pastor arrived, noting with pleasure the marks on his face. She knew she looked like a raving lunatic; her dark hair was messy and fell across her face in absolute disarray. Her face was splotchy with rage and the blistering heat of the fires. She was sure that there was blood near her mouth where she had tried to bite someone. And her eyes, they gleamed with malicious intent.

"Miss Leigh, it is my most _unpleasant_ duty to inform you that you have been charged with the murders of several of the young children in our town. This is a most severe offense, for which the fitting punishment is only death. Do you have anything you wish to add before we continue?"

"Only this, you can burn me and flog me and drug me, but you'll never get rid of me! I curse this very ground that you walk on, this whole city shall be cursed. You and your successors shall rue the day that you dared to cross me!" Many in the crowd swore angrily at her, women wept and dogs howled in the street. The pastor crossed himself and began uttering his prayer, "Most merciful Lord, today we return to you, your very own daughter, who has strayed from your most benevolent path. Let her death serve as a cleansing force, to remove the evil that she has brought to our town. Let your light shine on her that she may experience the misgivings that her actions deserve. We offer this sacrifice up in your most holy name. Amen." He sprinkled her with holy water and she hissed as the essence clashed with her soul, burning her and deeps angry red marks appeared on her skin.

He moved to make the sign of the cross that would herald the end of the rite and would enable him to set her on fire, when suddenly a dark shadow fell over the site. The winds picked up and the tongues of fire around them leapt up, higher and higher, resembling the very gates of hell. Stepping back in haste, the pastor nearly missed the look of horror on the young woman's face. Her eyes widened and she thrashed and struggled against her bonds.

"No!" she screamed, "You can't abandon me! After everything that I've done for you!" The shadow passed, leaving in its wake a most gloomy air. Striking the match, the pastor did not lift his head to meet her eyes, he merely threw the lighted stick at her feet and walked away.

The hay around her caught fire, and soon she could feel her bare soles blistering, the skin charring as the flames licked at them. Her eyes flashed and she shouted out to the pastor, "You all seem to enjoy fire so much, then as a parting gift let me leave you with something that I'm sure you'll remember forever." She muttered under her breath, bowing her head as the flames grew higher and higher. The townspeople looked at each other worriedly, surely she was only bluffing, perhaps trying to save herself at the last moment.

A scream from the old Account's building three roads down caught everyone's attention. A man came tearing down the road, "The building's on fire," he screamed. All around, more screams broke out as more of the old buildings broke out in flames. Jyll knew her time was up, but she looked around, surveying the chaos she had caused with no small pleasure. As her lungs closed up, and breathing became far too difficult, she let her eyes slide shut, the sound of her own heart beat echoing amidst the screams.

* * *

><p><strong>*Modern Day*<strong>

"Quoi?" whispered Francis looking at Matthew, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Antonio raked a hand through his hair tiredly, "I'm so sorry. He was only out of my sight for a few minutes."

Francis tried to smile weakly, "It's not your fault mon ami. I….I just… Mon Dieu, Arthur what has happened to my Alfred?"

Arthur was scowling at something in the book they found in the cottage. His head snapped up at Francis' words and he blinked, trying to focus on what was happening. "Francis, perhaps…perhaps, it would be better if you and Matthew went out for a breath of fresh air, to clear your head a little. I need to have a word with Antonio." He didn't miss the betrayed look that the Frenchman shot him, but there was something that he needed to tell Antonio and given the current situation, he didn't think that Francis would be able to handle hearing this.

"What's wrong amigo?" Antonio asked once they were alone. Pointing to a section in the book, Arthur explained, "See this part here, it's a ritual. I've only heard about it in legends that the fae used to mention many years ago. But from what I remember, this is a ritual to attain power and longevity of life. It makes use of children as a sort of battery if you will."

"Children? Por que?" questioned Antonio.

"The idea was that young children who had not yet been afflicted by the dangers and harms of the world were somehow purer than others. Cultures all over the world have believed that purity was in some form, a symbol of power and I suppose that was the logic of using children. Toni, it's starting to make sense now, the missing children. Whoever or whatever is behind this is taking the children to keep itself tied to the earth in some way. And I think that this person, this Jyll Leigh, is behind it. Look here," he added, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his satchel.

"This is what I found on the Internet. According to lore, Leigh was Welsh in origin, and I did some digging around. Apparently, there are records of children going missing in quite the same fashion as what was happening here. The primary difference is that in our case, it seems that the citizens took a slightly more direct approach and got rid of her. In Wales, it seems like they found out something about her and merely drove her out. If my hunch is right, and they cremated her in entirety, then there will be no mortal remains that would allow an easy exorcism. Our only other option is to find out what exactly her secret was. If we can find out what she was so afraid of, we can use that to get rid of her once and for all. But I can't do this alone Antonio."

Antonio nodded, olive green eyes blazing with determination.

Arthur continued, "Right, first things first, I need you to call the local police and ask for a man called Ludwig Beilschmidt. Explain to him what's happening, we'll need as many eyes as we can now. Then call the local hospitals and train stations and airports. I don't want her taking Alfred out of the city. Lastly, but most importantly, I need you to go through local records and find out where she's holding the children. Going by logic we'd need to search for an isolated place, somewhere dark and deserted where no one would bother her. The less sacred the place the better."

Arthur shook his head, shooting Antonio a pointed look, "But Leigh's too smart for logic. That's why I need you to search for exactly the opposite. Alright Toni?"

Nodding grimly, Antonio asked, "Si, Lovi and I will get to work. And you amigo?"

"I'm going to call Llyr, I may not love the git, but if anyone can help us with the Welsh, it's him."

"Are you sure Arturo? You didn't exactly part on good terms…"

Sighing, Arthur replied, "I know Toni, but this is no time for foolish pride. Alfred's life is in danger."

Francis absentmindedly stroked Matthew's hair as he gazed at the sky. He felt so helpless. His son was gone and there was nothing that he could do, nowhere that he could look. The sound of footsteps drew him out of his thoughts and he stared at Arthur hopefully. That small flame of hope flickered out as he noted the look of absolute consternation on the smaller man's face.

"Arthur, be honest with me, what's going on?" Francis demanded.

Arthur replied, "Francis, we'll do the best we can. As we speak, Antonio and Lovino are talking to the police to get Alfred back."

"Mais, back from what? Do you know what has taken my son?"

"No, I'm afraid I simply can't be sure of what's behind this." He wouldn't meet Francis' eyes.

"Oui, but you have some idea, n'est-ce pas? Please Arthur, let me know. It's my son. I have every right to know what is going on."

"Alright Francis, but I warn you, you won't like it."

"Mon cher, be serious. What part of this _mess_ am I supposed to enjoy? He is my son; I will be more at ease if you at least tell me what has taken him."

"Well, the thing is, we believe that something, possibly that spirit that you seem to keep seeing, has taken Alfred. She wants to sacrifice him for a ritual that will provide with her the energy needed to remain alive and attached to the mortal realm." Francis went white and for a moment, Arthur was afraid that he'd pass out.

He wrapped his arm around Francis' shoulder, drawing him close. Breathing deeply, he pulled out his cell phone and opened his phone book.

Scrunching up his eyebrows at the god-awful ringtone that ensued, he ignored the questioning look that Francis shot him. The caller at the other end picked up. "'Lo?"

"Llyr?" he began hesitantly, "It's me, Arthur."

"What in blazes name do you want? I thought we made it clear that we weren't going to speak to one another anymore unless it was a family gathering or a funeral or both. And it sure as hell isn't any of those options, now is it?" Swallowing his anger, Arthur interjected, "Llyr, I need your help."

"Oh now isn't that wonderful. What did that French friend that Iain was telling me about leave you high and dry? Because frankly speaking, I don't give a flying sprite's…"

"His name is Francis and it's got his son Llyr!" Arthur interjected.

"_What_?"

Now that he had gotten his attention, he took a deep breath and poured out the entire story. At the end of it, Llyr was seething, "Why didn't you tell me about any of this before?"

"I didn't think you'd care." Arthur admitted honestly. Muttering something about moronic younger brothers, Arthur heard the telltale sounds of pages being turned.

"Do you think it's a specter?" he asked.

"No way, it's way too corporeal to be a ghost. Even poltergeists don't have so much corporeal control. And it's rather organized for a regular demon. I think what you're looking at is a spirit daemon." Llyr said absentmindedly.

"_A what?" _Arthur asked, bewildered.

"Local lore has it that occasionally; people who dabbled with the dark arts liked to go a step further and sold their souls to particular daemons in exchange for greater power. What few people realized was that daemons tended to dishonor their promises and at the slightest sign of a problem, they would readily abandon their human counterparts without so much as a glance back. The scorned humans were essentially soulless and hence could not move on in life, neither heaven nor hell would accept them and thus they were trapped in a sort of perpetuated existence on earth. At the same time, the extended exposure to daemon's essence left gaps in the make-up of a human. Hence the spirit now needed some sort of energy source otherwise it would fizzle out into nothingness." explained his elder brother.

"That does sound an awful lot like what we're dealing with, but the question is Llyr, how do we get rid of it?"

"Well, there should be_ something_ that links the spirit to earth. A symbol of suffering or joy that represents the lost humanity of the being. If we can find that, it's a simple matter of destroying it in the presence of the spirit. That should send it to the Netherworld. I'll get to work finding out what the link is, you try and figure out where the spirit is. And get some supplies, holy water, rosemary, the works. And Arthur?"

"Yes Llyr?"

"Be careful mate. These things are malevolent at best. There's no reasoning or talking to them alright?"

"I understand, thanks Llyr."

Arthur pressed his hand to his forehead, screwing his eyes shut, where on earth were they going to find her? By all accounts, there were superstitions and strange sightings linked with almost every part of the town. If they wasted too much time, they'd never be able to find Alfred.

"L' eglise" whispered Francis.

"I'm sorry what?" Arthur asked him, puzzled.

Francis looked at him excitedly, "The church! C'est l' endroit. It has to be, don't you remember? When we came here first, Alfred saw the woman in the church but none of us could see her. That must be where she is. It makes sense no? It's not too deserted, but at the same time with the renovations, it is deserted enough for her to take children without anyone noticing." That indeed did make sense to Arthur, but there was nothing he could do without knowing what held Leigh down.

He started as his phone rang. It was Llyr. Switching his phone onto loudspeaker, he asked, "What did you find?"

In hushed tones, the Welsh man began, "You'll never believe it, I'm not entirely too sure whether I believe it or not. I found this old document in a priest's handbook. Records indicate that doctors declared Jyll Leigh clinically insane at the age of thirteen. She, for some reason, seemed to believe in certain apparitions that no one else could see. Her mélange of friends included a talking faery and a wraith whom she was terrified of.

Her parents were worried about her mental health and so sent her to the local abbey where they beseeched the holy men there to cure her. After years of exorcisms, torture and counseling failed to yield results, the men punished her for her ungodly ways by sentencing her to solitary confinement. She continued to exhibit signs of delusions, talking to what appeared to be thin air. Her ramblings grew more and more anxious until one day they stopped entirely. The fathers, fearing that she had died, opened the door and there she was, sitting silently on the bed. After that, it seemed that she was completely reformed.

The priests gave her a small prayer book as a farewell gift and wanted to re-baptise her, but she disagreed, saying that she was not ready for such a step. They released her back into society under the impression that she was entirely too sane to be held any longer. Three days later, the abbey burnt down and not a single man, woman or child escaped alive."

At some point in the story, Francis' hand had slipped into Arthur's and now his grip was almost painful. Matthew had long since buried his face in Kumajirou's fur. "Then, that book…"

"That's right. If you can find the book, then you can get rid of her." Llyr crowed triumphantly.

"That may be easier said than done Llyr. That book could be anywhere."

"Not necessarily. Think about it, wasn't that Adalric chap of yours the owner of a bookstore? From what you told me, he was one determined bugger. There's a good chance that he knew something. Try his old journal; you never know what you'll find."

"Um…I think I know where it is…." A small voice piped up. The two looked surprised at Matthew.

"Matthew," ventured Arthur cautiously, "Are you sure?" "Yeah! Don't you remember that first night when we got here and Papa thought he heard something at the door? Kuma told me that something had come inside our room when Papa opened the door and it had gone under the bed. He went to check it out and he found this really old book that had a lot of funny writing on it. We didn't know what it was and Kuma said that it smelled really bad so we put it back under the bed. But I remember that it had pictures like the ones that Papa used to read to us sometimes, the prayer books and stories about heaven."

Arthur was already dialing Antonio, asking him to get the receptionist to open up their room and to get the book. "Francis," he said, getting to his feet, "Stay here! Antonio will be here soon with Ludwig. Keep Matthew with you at all costs alright? I'm going to get some things ready for the exorcism, call me if anything happens. And whatever you do, don't talk to anyone that isn't Antonio!"

"Arthur…will we, will we be able to save Alfred?" Francis asked hesitantly.

Arthur froze, he had expected this question, but that didn't make it any easier to say this. "I don't know Francis, but we certainly won't go down without a battle."

***St. Botolph's Parish***

Wearily, Alfred cracked open his blue eyes, squinting at his surroundings. Everything was pitch black and he had absolutely no idea where he was. The last thing he recalled was being in the rest room. He was a big boy now, and he didn't need Arthur's friend or anyone else to help him. The stalls weren't too big and when he had entered he was sure that it had been empty. When a shadow fell over his head, he whipped his head around and would have screamed if he had not passed out. The last thought that flashed through his mind was that he shouldn't have been watching those trailers of the Ring.

He whimpered quietly, not understanding what was happening. His eyes slowly became accustomed to the dark and when they did he screamed. All around him were skeletons, small ones about his size. Some were upright, some chained to the walls, and many were thrown haphazardly on the floor in one corner of the room.

"What a commotion you boys like to make. It'll be so much quieter once you're dead." Alfred looked up and yelped. There was the lady that he had seen in the church. She was looking at him with a small smile on her face. "I want my daddy." cried Alfred.

"Oh isn't that just precious! Well, would you look at that? I don't care. Now be quiet you dratted boy. It'll be all over once the moon rises. Now if I hear another sound out of you, I'll let you play with the rats. Nasty fellows they are, very sharp teeth and quite a taste for human flesh I'm told, especially that of little, whiny boys."

Alfred hiccoughed quietly, wiping his tears with his scraped palms and watched as the woman faded through one of the walls. The room was made of stone and it looked old. There were no windows and the only source of light was the cracks in the ceiling. He could hear noise from above, people talking and machinery at work. He wanted to scream and call out for help, but something told him that the mean lady would make good on her promise.

As the morning wore on, Alfred heard the woman again, now she was singing in some funny language that he didn't want to understand. He huddled into a ball in the corner of the room and sniffled, rocking himself back and forth. He was scared. What if he never got to play hide and seek with Mattie again? What if he never got to tell Arthur how cool he thought he was and how he wanted nothing more than for all four of them to be a family? What if he never saw his father again? How'd he apologize for always being so naughty and making his dad worry all the time?

"Alfred? Lad is that you?"

He couldn't believe it. "_Flutter_?"

The petite faery flew over and nested in his hair. "There you are! Everyone's been looking all over for you! Are you alright?"

"I want to go home! I want Arthur and Dad!"

"I know lad. Hold on for a while, we won't let that witch get away with this. The cavalry is on its way."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

And here's the next chapter! Happy belated New Year everyone! Feedback would be appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Chalk and Blood**

**Disclaimer:** I clicked my heels three times and nothing happened. Well, my heels hurt, but nothing useful happened. Aside from the plot, I own nothing.

**Warnings: **Slight morbidity towards the latter portion and Rome being Rome.

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><p>The train couldn't move fast enough for the Welshman. He eyed the clouds that lazily drifted across the azure sky with disdain; every second that they spent in this train was one where Arthur could have possibly gotten himself killed. He leaned his forehead against the cool window, sighing softly to himself. Long ago, things had been simpler. Of course, there were fairies, dwarves and sprites, there was the occasional leprechaun that tried to trick you out of your lifesavings and more than the incidental specter that nearly stopped your heart. But those were the days when there was family. When you could come home after your most definitely illegal party with the warlocks down the street and throw yourself onto a bed with your brothers. Those were the days when there was more than one kind of magic.<p>

But those days had long since faded into the shadowy depths of his past. Llyr shut his eyes, letting the familiar memories wash over him; he could hear his mother's screams in the background, the taunting voices of his classmates, the chants of countless creatures that he wouldn't be able to name till he was far older. Eventually he'd wizen up, pretending that he couldn't see the winged horse that his baby brother had come to love. He'd tried to save Arthur, he really had, but the stupid boy was too trusting, too open. Llyr would never be able to erase the sight of Arthur's green eyes, bright against his pale white skin, as he gripped his mother's hand, walking toward the sleek black car that would take him to a place to, "make him better." Those soft words would resonate in his mind, again and again, reverberating with their childlike innocence, "_But you believe me don't you brother?_"

Iain wasn't helping matters, with all his fidgeting. Llyr glanced at his elder brother out of the corner of his eye. The Scotsman had something to say but he seemed to be wrestling with himself to say it. Another five minutes of the tense silence passed until Llyr couldn't take it anymore, "Spit it out then man! What is it?"

Iain looked at him firmly, "Ye hae tae teel Arthur ye ken. Sooner ur later he's gonnae realize 'at there's nae way we coods hae reached Boston sae quickly. Ah dornt see why ye cooldnae jist tell him 'at ye hud spoken tae Antonio. Ya bampot."

Llyr bristled, his brother's accent always got painfully thicker when he was worried about something or in this case someone. He'd barely understood the gist of that last speech, but he was fairly sure the last phrase had been something insulting. "Iain, we've been through this. Arthur and I have history all right. I understand that you've resolved whatever past issues you had with him, but I haven't. Things have been difficult for us, I don't want to risk what little we have managed to achieve."

"Wi' th' way ye tois going lookin' fur pixies ur whatever they're called, it's a miracle yoo're still alive. Someday, yoo'll regret nae bein' aroond for Arthur. Stop bein' a blasted coward an cheil up! Be his elder brither fur ance! Arthur needs ye fur heaven's sake!"

"But don't you get it, he needed me all those years ago, when we were children. All I had to do was say that I saw the things he saw. That's it, three simple words and I could have saved my little brother. But I didn't! I sat there, like a damned coward and let him be dragged away and didn't do a thing to stop them. I gave up the right to call myself his elder brother years ago Iain; I don't deserve to ask for it back."

Iain didn't say anything, though Llyr could have sworn he heard the word bampot muttered a few times. Llyr looked fixedly out of the window, letting the silence wash over the duo once more.

***Boston- Modern Day***

"Explique-moi how precisely this will work. From what you have told me, we must burn cette livre oui?" Arthur nodded grimly, "That's right, we need to burn this book, but in the presence of the witch. The faster we do this, the better."

Antonio and Lovino appeared with Ludwig in tow. The Hispanic man nodded his head at Arthur, determination written on his face. "Just like old times eh amigo? Like when that poltergeist decided to haunt the men's bathrooms in college?"

Arthur chuckled weakly, "I'm afraid it's a rather more trying situation than that Toni. But I'm glad you're here with me." He looked at Ludwig, "You're sure that there won't be any civilians this side of town?"

The cop nodded, "Ja. The department has issued a warning to all citizens indicating possible terrorist activity in this area. We've informed them that the area is unsafe and also that any breach of the boundaries will warrant immediate and unquestioned arrest. That should keep people out of the way for now."

Sighing, Arthur replied, "Indeed. That's one relief. The last thing we need is to have to worry about innocent bystanders. Well then Antonio, let's get moving. The faster we move the better." But before he could leave, Francis caught his arm, "Attends… I want to come with you. Please," he added noting the look of disapproval on Arthur's face, "He is my son. I just want to help."

"Francis, listen to what you are saying. What will you do inside with us? I understand that you are worried about your son, but you must know that you coming in with us presents with the additional problem of looking after you. You must trust us; we know what we're doing. We will get your son back for Francis, I promise you. But," he added, "There is one thing the three of you can do."

Digging out an old scroll from his bag, he handed it gently to Francis. "My elder brother Llyr once gave it to me. It was a gift, one of the last things he ever gave to me. This is a protection spell. According to what's written on it, it should create a ward around the area and protect us. I'm leaving this to the three of you alright? I'm assuming that if you read out the words on this, you should be able to generate a ward sufficiently powerful to prevent Leigh from escaping should she attempt to do so." Francis nodded, before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Be careful Arthur, I will wait here for you and my son."

Flushing, he turned on his heel. Behind them, Lovino had grabbed Antonio in a fierce hug, "You'd better come back safe alright bastard? Otherwise I'm going to bring you back from the dead so I can kill you myself." Antonio smiled, placing a kiss on the top of Lovi's head, "Si, mi tomate. I'll come back home to you safely."

The interior of the church was quite impressive, but Arthur didn't have time to admire the details. Antonio had done more than his fair share of research however. He pointed towards the south of the church. "We need to look in that direction." Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow. "Why not go up? That's where Alfred saw her first." "Si, but you said that she'd prefer a darker and slightly more secluded spot for the ritual. The tower wouldn't provide the quietness or the space for something like that right? So I was thinking, awhile back, when they were doing some work here, they found a bunch of old coffins. They theorized that this church had been built on top of another structure most probably an early Norman monument of some sort. The remnants are that way, there was an old pillar that marked the entrance but I think they've removed that."

"That's bloody brilliant Antonio. But you needn't worry about us finding that pillar. I've got a better idea." He lifted his hand and closed his eyes, muttering softly under his breath. Antonio had seen this before; it was a 'Seek' spell. He kept his eyes peeled looking for the telltale glow that would show them what they were looking for. "Bingo!" he called out.

A few paces ahead them, a small section of the wall was lit up, albeit faintly. Antonio hurried to the spot; it was unlikely that they'd need magic to get in. While Leigh was a ghost, her victims weren't. There had to be some way that she was getting them inside. Surely enough, there was an indentation between two of the bricks and he slid his fingers deftly into it. Years of handling delicate manuscripts had left him practiced in such intricate work. In a few seconds he had prized off a small number of bricks, revealing a passage that possibly led into the old crypt.

But as Arthur approached, a new problem presented itself. The passage was ridiculously small; the dimensions were suitable for a small child to move through easily but not a fully grown adult. "I'll go first Toni," Arthur said firmly, "You come behind me." Antonio didn't like it, but he knew they had no choice. Arthur managed to squeeze himself into the tiny opening and crawled through it until he reached the end, dropping gratefully onto the rough hewn stone floor. He was just about to call out to Antonio when a sudden burst of energy whizzed by him. He swore as the roof of the tunnel gave out and the passageway sealed.

He knew it would be a waste of time and energy to try and clear out the debris. It was relatively strong magic but by the feel of it, it was a defense mechanism. Leigh had engineered it to prevent people from entering and leaving. It was triggered by the motion of someone in the tunnel. That meant that in all probability, she wasn't here. At the very least, that was some good news, he had a little time. "Antonio, if you can hear me, get out! I'll get Alfred, but don't hang around here alright? Get out and help the others with the charm!"

He turned around surveying his surroundings. He was in a dark passageway of some sort; it was narrow and almost pitch black. Running his hands along the uneven surface of the wall, his hand came in contact with one of the old wooden torches that used to line the walls. "Incandesco", he muttered, watching as it lit up almost instantaneously. The passageway divided into two, and although Arthur tried, his scrying spells came up fruitless. There was a sort of barrier that prevented anyone from using magic to discern which way to go. Arthur slammed his fist against the wall. He didn't have time to waste, it was only a matter of time before she returned, he'd promised Francis that he'd get Alfred back safely.

"You could always ask me." Arthur started and swore, almost dropping his torch. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

There at the wall that divided the two tunnels was a spirit; at least Arthur was sure it was a spirit. Tall and slender, the man had long hair that Arthur assumed would have been blond when he was alive. He wore a faintly irritated expression on his face and Arthur got the feeling that he knew him from somewhere. "Of course, whether I would tell you, now that's another thing all together. It's rather dangerous you see, the quest you plan to undertake. Heroic, I grant you that, but dangerous. You remind a bit of Aeuleus, a less handsome version of him."

The name seemed oddly familiar, although it took Arthur a few minutes to place it. "Aeuleus, that's the man from the journal we found earlier… If you knew Aeuleus…then you must be Adalric!" The spirit looked at him bemusedly, "Got it in one. Not bad really."

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked amazedly. "I was summoned," Adalric replied, "Though apparently not by you. But I can sense what you are doing here, or at least what you're going after. You're chasing that infernal woman aren't you? The one who burnt the town down?"

Arthur nodded hesitantly, "Indeed, she has someone very important to me in her clutches. " "I'll tell you in no uncertain terms now, turn back and don't ever return. She's not like anything you could ever imagine; even Death could not stop her entirely. Forget about this person and pray that they die painlessly, that's my only advice to you."

"What if it was Aeuleus?" Arthur cried out, unable to stop himself. "What if it was him or your child? Would you have allowed them to perish so easily then?" The temperature dropped and Arthur had to fight to prevent himself from shivering.

"We never had children, good Ms. Leigh made sure of that. She took Aeuleus from me when we were very young. Did you know that we were going to move out of that town soon? His niece's parents had died and we were going to take her in and settle down in a quiet French countryside, somewhere near the sea. I fought, I fought every day till he died and then I fought her some more and look what a mess that turned into! She wasted no time in getting rid of me and we were trapped in this existence and will be till she disappears forever. Until then, we are reduced to mere memories that live in the pages of my old journal. So don't speak to me as if I don't know boy, I've been living this nightmare for centuries."

"Look, I'm sorry that all of this happened to you, but that's not going to stop me. Either you tell me the way to go, or I'm going to take my chances and keep moving. If it makes you feel any better, I'm here to make sure that she never walks this planet again."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Adalric's lips, "You're stubborn aren't you. Alright then, since you're so persistent, I'll help you. You seem to have an actual shot at getting rid of her. It's most simple really, it doesn't matter which turn you take. Right or left, they lead to the same destination and both are more or less equal. You see, Leigh realized that one day, people might try to break in and destroy her. But to do that, these people would need to be extremely intelligent. And so, she'd use this intelligence against them. How long do you think people would spend at this junction, agonizing over what was to be done, which direction to take? By the time they made a decision, Leigh's work was done.

Keep moving as fast as you can. The sun has almost set and when it does, Leigh shall return. I'm trusting you to do the job. So, good luck I suppose."

Adalric disappeared almost as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving the passage silent once more, and to Arthur, lonely.

It didn't take him long to reach the crypt or at least the doors that led to it. Old and huge, the wood that had been used in the construction was rotting. But even the decay couldn't hide the morbid detail that ornamented the door. Angels and demons clashed on the doorway and skeletons watched the scenes. Gulping, he prepared to open the door when a familiar voice hit him.

"Arthur! Thank goodness you've arrived!"

He wheeled around, eyes wide in surprise. "Flutter?"

"I'm sorry Arthur, I stayed with him as long as I could, but then she decided to shift him to this crypt and there was so much dark energy that I couldn't enter. You have to hurry Arthur, before she gets him!"

The doors flew open with a bang and slammed against the walls, the noise echoing in the silence. The room was small, rectangular with no windows. The sole source of light was a candelabrum at the northern end of the room. There was a stone cross, carved into the wall and an altar. At some point, Arthur reasoned, this place had served as a place of worship. Wielding his lit torch like a weapon, he stared horrified at the walls. Almost every available space was adorned by bizarre symbols, most of them necromancer's pentacles. They were made with some dark staining ink, what appeared to Arthur to be dried blood.

And there at the center of the room, tied to a wooden post was Alfred. Rushing to his side, he was relieved to see that Alfred was alright. Tear stricken, freaked out, but alive and still, thankfully, in one piece. "Come on then lad, let's get out of here and fast."

He untied Alfred and the boy flung his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur returned the embrace briefly, "Your father's waiting for you. It's time to go." He had barely uttered these words when he was unceremoniously slammed against the wall, the air knocked out of his lungs. He could faintly make out the sound of Alfred screaming in the background as he strove to catch his breath. Something warm and wet trickled down his forehead and he realized he was bleeding.

"I'm most sorry about that. But you see, I need little Alfred here for something very important and I can't have you running away with him now can I?" The voice was feminine, that was undeniable. But it was unlike any woman he had ever heard, or wanted to hear for that matter. Scratchy and high pitched, it was full of malice among other things.

"Jyll Leigh," he ground out, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. She laughed, "I see you know who I am. But I'm afraid that I don't have the same privilege. Well, I suppose it won't matter in a few moments. Once I have Alfred's blood in me, I'll be strong enough to get rid of you both and then take care of a few others…pests…that have been troubling me. But I do find it interesting that you can see me, just like Alfred here. Fascinating. Incidentally, did you know that was why I had selected him?

I was just minding my own business, looking out through the window in the old spire, contemplating over who would be the next child I took because I needed more energy now, when imagine my surprise, a young man looked up and could see me. Such power runs through his veins. It was incredible, instead of feeding off children repeatedly over many years, I had one single child who could revive me and more."

"You witch, you'll never succeed."

For the first time, Jyll stepped into the flickering candle light. Arthur didn't know what he had been expecting, a depraved lunatic with a knife perhaps but not this. She was a young woman, smartly dressed in a pale blue gown with white gloves covering her small hands. Her long black hair was neatly combed and fell well past her shoulders. But when you looked into her eyes, you could see the madness, the pools of darkness that they had read about.

Her unnaturally red lips curled upwards, "Really? And who's going to stop me? Not you I presume." Arthur struggled against her binds but they were strong, Adalric was right, she was unbelievably strong, not to mention oddly corporeal. God alone knew how many children she had drained like this, gaining her immortality.

She twisted around to grab Alfred and that split second of distraction was all Arthur needed. He wrenched himself away from the wall and rolled onto the floor. He had learned a thing or two in his childhood about escaping malevolent spells and while she was considerably more powerful than the demons of his youth, there was one fundamental similarity: he didn't want to die.

He wanted to burn the book and send her to hell but he couldn't. She was too close to Alfred and he had no idea how much collateral damage would be caused when he finally did decimate the one link that she had to the mortal world. He dodged another attack and tumbled gracelessly onto the floor. Leigh glared at him dispassionately, "You are like me, to a certain extent at least. You know what it is like, to be branded a monster for something that you cannot control! Every day, those 'men of God' would come and swear that they could cure me. They wouldn't let me be! Those stupid fools, they didn't realize that I wasn't the one that needed curing. It was all too much fun roasting their flesh."

Alfred whimpered, trying to escape and Leigh struck him across the face. "Be quiet!" Arthur felt an unknown anger grow inside of him and lashed out at her, using an old spell that he hoped would be effective. It drew a long angry welt across her face that slowly began to drip blood. This apparently angered her to new levels. Her eyes glowed with a new vengeance and she raised her free hand, "I've had enough of playing around with you. It's time that Alfred and I got down to business."

Making a slashing motion with her hand, she smiled grimly and Arthur vaguely noted the cracking of the roof above his head. He moved his hands to shield himself but knew it would be futile and closed his eyes as the rocks came tumbling down.

He waited for the onslaught of pain, but there was none. Cracking open one eye wearily, he gasped. There was another specter, shielding him. This one was bigger built and had a kinder face. He had shorter, darker hair than Adalric but his eyes looked tired somehow. "Aeuleus?" Arthur breathed.

The man beamed, "Ah I see you met Adalric then! It's nice to meet you! Well, not in these circumstances really, but you remind me of someone I knew once, a long time ago." Leigh did not take kindly to being ignored, and she screamed in anger. But as Arthur turned to face her, he felt the first beam of hope he had in a long while. Leigh had let go of Alfred's hand in the confusion that ensued, and the young boy was being quietly led away by Adalric.

"Now," said Aeuleus, "You must hurry up. It's high time someone put her in her place. And I want to move on with Adalric. They say heaven is quite a wonderful place, you know like the song? The cooks are French and the police are English and," before he could finish anymore of his description of heaven, another rock went flying past Arthur's face narrowly missing his ear. Aeuleus swallowed thickly, "Although perhaps this isn't the best time for that. You do have a plan on how to get rid of her right?"

Arthur nodded and whipped the book out. "Incendio," he said, watching with pleasure as the book went up in flames. Leigh screamed and tried to stop them but there was nothing she could do. Her spirit caught fire and she moved closer towards them. As she faded away, the altar cracked and smoke filled the room. "This would be an excellent time to run," called out Aeuleus. He and Adalric helped Arthur and Alfred to the entrance of the passage.

Flutter had already cleared it out it seemed and Arthur helped Alfred crawl through. He was about to continue when Aeuleus put his hand on his shoulder. He smiled at him and said, "And this is where we part ways I'm afraid. I want to thank you Arthur, for your help. Leigh had trapped us in this form because she wanted to know where Adalric had kept those papers from all those years ago. Let me tell you, being a ghost is not all it's cut out to be. Oh sure, you can haunt people but that gets old after awhile and then Adalric started getting cranky and I don't even want to get started on how difficult it was to have sex."

Adalric cleared his throat and nudged Aeuleus. "Um, yes the point being that we can finally move on. Look after your family Arthur, don't let them slip away from you."

Arthur smiled, "I won't. And thank you both for all your help; we could have never done this without you. I wish you both all the happiness possible for your afterlife."

He crawled out, grabbing Alfred's hand and then ran towards the church entrance. The throbbing in his head was growing worse but this was no time to think about that. They reached the bridge and he let go of Alfred's hand, overcome by a sudden rush of dizziness. Alfred ran ahead to his father, who picked him up and hugged him tightly. The group was so busy with Alfred that they failed to notice Arthur's increasingly clumsy steps. Iain was the first one who looked up, he and Llyr having arrived around a half an hour ago.

"Arthur!" he cried out, running forward. Arthur lay on the ground in the middle of the bridge, a small but steadily growing pool of blood surrounding him. "He's lost too much blood," worried Iain, cradling the younger boy to him.

"Call an ambulance!" Llyr instructed Ludwig. Francis and the others watched in horror as Arthur turned paler and paler, now looking for all the world like a piece of chalk that had been dipped in red ink.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

And here ends chapter nine! Reviews would be appreciated, every review goes to buy Arthur some tea, and he gets grumpy without it.

**Translations:**

The Scottish bit at the start: "You have to tell Arthur you know. Sooner or later, he's going to realize that there's no way we could have reached Boston so quickly. I don't see why you couldn't have just told him that you had spoken to Antonio."

I'm not precisely sure what bampot means, I think it goes along the lines of idiot.

With the way you two go looking for pixies or whatever they're called, it's a miracle you're still alive. Someday, you'll regret not being around for Arthur. Stop being a blasted coward and chin up! Be his elder brother for once! Arthur needs you for heaven's sake."

I'd like to reiterate here that I know no Scottish, and all translation was done online. If there any mistakes and I feel there might be, please let me know and I'll remedy it.

Explique- moi –Explain to me

Cette livre- this book

Incendio and Incandesco are both Latin phrases that essentially mean fire.

As an ending note, when I finished the last chapter, I had intended to bid farewell to Rome and Germania and then I watched Hetalia-Paint it White, so here they are! Also, yes that song is his heaven and hell song.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: A Final Cup of Tea**

**Disclaimer:** I clicked my heels three times and nothing happened. Well, my heels hurt, but nothing useful happened. Aside from the plot, I own nothing.

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><p>It was so bright that for a split second he could almost imagine that he was dead, or at the very least in a hospital. But as he blinked, trying to clear his eyes, he squinted as he realized the light wasn't artificial, it was natural. Bright, bright sunlight poured out in strong beams and he squinted, the unfamiliarity of his location jarring him. Where on Earth was he? The clear blue expanse of sky did little to answer his question. Above him was a giant oak, whose branches swayed gently in the breeze, its green leaves occasionally blocking out the dazzling beams of liquid gold. The soil smelled fresh, Arthur mused, full of life and goodness, so much like when he was a young boy.<p>

He jumped up, horrified. In fact, it was exactly like when he was a child. He remembered this tree; he'd spent hours lazing under its branches, dreaming about his future. But how could that be possible? Tentatively, he touched a shaky hand to the back of his head. There was no blood, no pain, and no scar. The only plausible explanation left for him was that he had died. He couldn't escape the sting of a bittersweet realization. At the very least, he had died a hero, saving Alfred. Some good had come out of it.

"You are not dead yet, I'm afraid." a gentle voice cut in. Startled, Arthur whirled around. He came face to face with a slender woman, who couldn't have been in her thirties yet. Her blonde hair shone like spun silk and Arthur was close enough to see her violet eyes. She reminded him of someone, with her quiet calm demeanor…but whom? As he ruminated this, she continued, seemingly unaware of his consternation. "You see, this place is a waiting room of sorts, for those souls that are unable to pass on to the next realm. Everyone has a different starting point, for you it is this place that you associate with your birth. But whatever is your starting point, the choice of destinations is few I'm afraid. Most souls sent here are meant to move onto the next stage, but there are a few whose time on Earth is still not up. But what happens next, Arthur, is entirely upto you."

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" he demanded, shocked. "You have never met me in life, but mon cher Francis, he talks about you quite a lot. He cares for you a great deal and I have heard so many wonderful things about you. Arthur Kirkland, I am forever in your debt, because you saved my son." At this, his eyes widened, "You…you're…" here his brain seemed to short circuit, because although he knew her name, for some reason it wouldn't reveal itself to him. "Marie!" It came to him in a flash. "Oui." She said, smiling at him, almost sadly he thought.

"It has begun already," she said, "you see, the longer you remain here, the more this place will erode at the memories that you hold dear. Until eventually, nothing will be left of you but a spirit that wanders this realm endlessly, unable to remember that you are meant to move on."

He scrambled to his feet, "How do I move on?" But she only smiled gently at him once more. "When the time comes Arthur, you will know." She retreated back into the woods and Arthur darted behind her, trying in vain not to lose sight of the only chance he might have to get out of here. All too quickly however, Marie had disappeared, leaving Arthur alone. He spent the entire day roaming the forest, searching for any other person that might be able to help him, but it was pointless. No matter how long he searched and how loudly he screamed, there was no one else in this verdant version of hell.

Sinking down to the soft earth, he let his fingers sift through the cool grass, watching a large blue butterfly slowly drift past him. He sank into a restless slumber, he was so tired. A part of his exhausted mind wondered if Marie's warning would come true, if he'd be stuck here forever.

Arthur had barely drifted off it seemed, when he was pulled back sharply to reality by the sound of footsteps approaching him. He just had time to sit up before he was met by a cheerful, "Hello there!" He glanced up warily at the young woman in front of him, who wore a dress that was distinctly from the last century. She wasn't very tall, but something about her made him imagine that she wasn't very docile. Her long, thick, brown hair was tied back with a white handkerchief but what impressed him the most was a frying pan held in one hand.

He focused on her cheerful face once more as he realized that she was speaking again, with a slight Germanic accent, he thought. "Are you new here? You look rather new, lost at least. But I really couldn't be too sure. Sometimes I feel like I can't remember too much anymore you know? I feel like you're new though! And it's been ever so long since I've seen anyone else here!" He nodded slowly, "I just got here I think. My name is Arthur, Arthur Kirkland." She beamed at him.

"Well hello Arthur! My name is Elizaveta. How did you end up here? I died in a fire you see. I'll give you a tip to remembering things in this place: you must repeat them to yourself quite often. Otherwise this place will steal your memories and we can't have that."

Arthur thought hard, it was disconcertingly difficult to string his memories together. "I was trying to save someone, someone important. His name was Alfred and something bad was after him. He was… he was…" for a moment, he panicked as his mind went completely blank. "He was Francis' son! That's right! Francis! I loved him more than anything. I do hope they're alright. And I hope that he doesn't forget me either, like I seem to be forgetting him." He finished on a mournful note, green eyes dulling with resignation.

Elizaveta's face softened, "It is a horrible feeling isn't it, to forget someone that you care about so deeply. I know it all too well. I loved a man, Arthur, but I can't remember his name. I know he loved music a great deal and he was a talented musician. Sometimes, when it is very silent I can hear his fingers coax the most delicate of tunes from a beautiful grand piano. I can't remember his name, but I do recall that I loved him, more than anything."

"Miss Elizaveta," he asked, "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you have moved on?"

"I should Arthur, but I only remembered now when you reminded me. You see, when I came here first, I waited for so long. I died first you see, before him. I didn't want to move on without him, I was scared. But I waited so long that I forgot everything else." Arthur remembered Marie's words. A part of him wanted to wait and see if he could return to Francis, but the rational part of him realized that he couldn't wait here forever.

"Come on, Miss Elizaveta," he said, trying to sound brave, "We must look for a way out."

***Modern Day-Boston***

Francis looked at Llyr who had returned after talking to the doctor. The Welshman appeared haggard, and he stared woefully at his younger brother. "He's lost too much blood," he said hollowly, "The doctors are saying it's a miracle that he's still alive. They're saying that it's up to him now, if he still wants to remain alive or not."

Arthur looked so frail on the bed, under the bulky starched sheets. He was unnaturally pale, his normally vibrant green eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow. The doctors had hooked him up to a ventilator to help him breathe, but it had been a week now. The doctors had all but given up hope. But Iain had refused to pull the plug and a couple of very colorful Scottish curses had ensured Arthur's continued treatment.

"What about your magic?" Francis asked. When Llyr blinked confusedly at him, he clarified, "Isn't there some magic spell or potion that you can use to bring him back?" Llyr shook his head sadly, "I want to, believe me when I say I'd do anything to bring him back. But it's not safe you see. There are certain things that I just can't factor into these equations and that's a risk no one should be willing to take. Bringing back someone from the beyond is a nasty business. You see, sometimes what you bring back won't be completely human. So I can't use magic, Arthur wouldn't have wanted it."

"What about healing him completely? Making it easier for him to wake up?" Llyr lowered his head shamefully, "I can't do much healing, I'm afraid that was Arthur's forte."

Francis' eyes brimmed with tears. "Then there's nothing we can do?" "I wouldn't say nothing. The fae used to have a saying that even in a coma a person could still hear you, if they trusted you enough. If your relationship was strong enough, then nothing could separate you. Talk to him Francis, maybe you can bring him back." He left the room, leaving the Frenchman alone with Arthur.

He squeezed the limp hand that he held, willing some of his life into Arthur's. If only he could do something…

Meanwhile night had finally fallen and Arthur and Elizaveta had built a small fire. "Oh yes, day and night change rather bizarrely here." Elizaveta mentioned. "It's odd I suppose, though I can't really complain. That's just how it is."

The pair huddled around the fire, drawing what little warmth they could from it, it had become almost unbelievably cold. Arthur remembered with a twinge in his chest, the night he and Francis had huddled around the fire in the woods. Elizaveta had already fallen asleep and Arthur gazed at the night sky, watching the stars. All the constellations were missing and he couldn't even find the Pole star which he had learned to look for as a young boy. That was when it struck him, there were no faeries or sprites or gnomes here. There was nothing. Arthur had never felt so empty before.

The sky was so dark. He found it strange as he'd never been without Flutter or Flying Mint Bunny before. Even as a child, he'd had his brothers. And no matter how violent and insane they seemed to be, they were always there for him. He thought about Iain, who had taken him in and refused to let him face the press, who were like bloody animals even at the best of times. Iain had pushed him to work and keep living even when nothing seemed to go right.

Arthur sighed, did he really want to move on without taking the chance to tell Llyr that he had always looked up to the elder man? He knew Llyr was sorry for leaving him alone, but he couldn't really blame him, to be honest. Deep down, he knew the man had always just been looking out for himself. True, he had acted in his own interests, but if it wasn't for him, Arthur would have been completely defenseless and unprepared when it came to his magical life. He'd never get another chance to irritate his little brother, Peter, whom he'd helped raise after his return from the mental institution.

He'd never get another chance to talk to Antonio. They may have not been romantically involved any longer, but then the Spaniard was as good as family now. He knew that he'd miss a grand wedding because, sooner or later Antonio would propose to Lovino. He loved the feisty Italian far too much not to. His stomach grumbled unhappily at the thought of the paella he was missing out on. And bloody hell, he'd never tell Antonio to get rid of the accursed photos of him from university. That had been back in the days when he was even more hot-headed than he was now. Some bright spark had taken it upon himself to call Arthur 'a bloody limey'. He in his haste had dyed his hair a shocking lime green and had stood out like a traffic light for months.

But Arthur soon sobered down, thinking of one last set of people that he'd never get to see again. In the silence of the night, he could just hear Francis' voice, soft as he spoke to Alfred and Matthew, tucking them in for the night. He wouldn't lie; Arthur had briefly envisioned a future with them together as a family.

In the morning, Arthur would sit at a cozy dining table, sipping a cup of tea while reading his paper. Alfred and Matt would eat their breakfast and brush their teeth, before bidding their parents a fond farewell. They'd take the bus to school.

While Francis would handle the cooking, Arthur would help with the dishes, the clothes, whatever he could help with. Arthur would work out of home most of the time, unlike Francis who would probably continue being a chef of some sort.

Each morning, before he'd leave, he'd kiss Arthur ever so lightly. When he'd return, after dinner, after the boys were asleep, the pair would sit quietly in the living room. Francis would watch some TV program, whilst laying his head on Arthur's lap. Arthur meanwhile would read or embroider. And they'd be happy, because they had everything that they needed. But that was all a dream now. He might never have the chance to see them again.

At the same time however, he couldn't allow himself to forget them, he wouldn't. He had to find a way out. Gazing up at the inky sky, he tried to will himself to sleep. Suddenly, a flash of light caught his eye. It was brief, a pulsing beam of light that vanished, but he was sure that he had seen it. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him. He gasped, startled and jerked himself upright. Elizaveta shifted sleepily, "Is everything alright?" she asked tiredly rubbing her eyes.

"Ah…yes," he replied, "I thought I saw something, that's all."

"Go to sleep Arthur," she groaned, turning over on the other side.

His sleep was fitful and he easily woke before Elizaveta. One thing was clear though, that light he had seen was a sign, it had to be, and he'd be damned if he ignored it. Glancing up at the now lightening sky, he gazed at the direction in which the light had been. The position of the apparition was embedded in his head; he knew where they had to go. Elizaveta was still sleeping and he had to shake her shoulder, rousing her from her slumber.

She mumbled in her sleep, "Nein Roderich, just five more minutes." Arthur blinked in confusion, but then it dawned on him. Hadn't he read somewhere that the answers you were looking for the most came to you in your dreams? If that was the case it made perfect sense. Elizaveta thought of no one else except the man she loved, he must have been named Roderich. As Elizaveta awoke, her eyes clearing, Arthur idly wondered what this Roderich must have looked like. He'd have to be cheerful and upbeat to keep up with Elizaveta. Or maybe he was quiet and composed, a balancing contrast to her. He wondered if he should bring up her subconscious revelation but he decided against it. There was something melancholy about her when she dwelled on her past and it worried him.

When she asked him where they were going today, he explained his theory. "Hmm… that does make some sense I suppose," she said, "Either way, we don't have too much to lose." As they travelled, she explained that they had no need for food. "We're not really corporeal, hence there is no actual need for food. I suspect that the only reason we sleep is a psychological necessity. If our brains didn't dictate it, we wouldn't sleep."

Elizaveta was an interesting companion, he reflected. She explained that she was Hungarian. Arthur had never really met anyone from that area of the world and he was fascinated by her disjointed tales of her life. She was from a relatively small town, her family was remarkably liberal. As she ran through the fundamentals of her everyday life something struck him, in all probability, Elizaveta had existed before both the World Wars, before the unification of Prussia and Germany, before the advent of modern technology. The writer inside him supplied an endless number of questions that she cheerfully answered. It was incredible, he thought, what lay in those parts of the world that he had barely heard of.

That was when they came to a clearing in the forest, where the trees gave way to an unexpected oddity. It was a large mirror that was unnaturally clean and gleamed in the sunlight. "Some people believe that mirrors have strange powers," Elizaveta said softly, almost as though she was in a trance. "I wonder Arthur, if we have found it. I think we might have, don't you?"

Their feet carried them almost unbidden to the object and Elizaveta gazed into it longingly, one pale finger reaching out to gently stroke its surface. Arthur watched as it changed under her touch, turning almost liquid like, appearing like mercury. A change came over Elizaveta's face as well.

"Roderich!" she exclaimed happily, "You waited for me!" Glancing at the surface, Arthur saw a young handsome man, with dark hair and a pair of glasses. He was elegant, almost aristocratic and his eyes gazed lovingly at Elizaveta. She reached out for him instinctively and Arthur was amazed as she was pulled into the mirror and was gone. Now it was Arthur's turn. But he didn't want to go, after all, there was no one waiting for him on the other side.

"So what will you do?" a voice in his head whispered, sounding an awful lot like Aeuleus. "As Roderich waited for her, you too can wait for Francis. And after all, you never know, perhaps you might go back. This mirror lets those who are meant to, return home."

Aeuleus' voice was however soon drowned out and he could hear Francis' voice. "We miss you, mon lapin. I don't know if you can hear me. But I wish more than anything that you would open your eyes, so that I could see them once more. You know, I never got a chance to read your books. I'm sure they would have magnificent, like you. I never got the chance to thank you, not just for saving Alfred, but for saving me as well. And more than that I never got the chance to tell you that I love you.

More than anything, mon coeur, I love you and I would have loved to spend my entire life with you. And I know Arthur, you will open your eyes, because you are strong and it's not time for you to move on, I need you Arthur, so please, don't leave me."

As he listened to Francis, he didn't realize that he was moving closer and closer to the mirror, until his fingers brushed its cool surface. Sighing he let himself lean in, what happened now happened, he couldn't wait here indefinitely at the risk of forgetting the ones he loved. If he lingered it would only cause them more grief so it was for the best. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall, focusing his thoughts. If this was the end, then he wanted the last thing that he remembered to be Francis, Alfred and Matthew, smiling and alive. He wanted to remember his family.

* * *

><p>"Alfred, lad isn't this your Shakespeare workbook on the table?" A small figure ran into the hall. "Thanks dad! I've been looking for it everywhere." Arthur smiled fondly at him.<p>

"You're most welcome. Now are you all packed and ready for school?"

"You bet!" Arthur laughed, "Then you'd best hurry or else you'll miss the bus." He watched Alfred dart out of the kitchen only seconds before he heard Francis call out from the kitchen. He went to see what was wrong, raising an impressive eyebrow quizzically at him. "He left his lunchbox here. Do you think you can give it to him?"

Arthur was just in time to hug Alfred, hand him his Superman themed lunchbox and press a kiss to Matthew's hair. He waved goodbye to them as the school bus drove off.

It was a modest sized house, two floors with a small attic. They had three bedrooms, one was his and Francis', the second was the boys and the third was a spare for guests. When he had woken up in a hospital bed with terrible scratchy, starched linen sheets, he had looked into Francis' eyes and found it all too easy to ask him to move in with him. He had enough money to afford a modest sized house and Francis certainly had no qualms about leaving Boston.

As Arthur had predicted, Francis easily found a job, but not as a chef. Instead, he opened a quaint café not too far from where they lived and it was doing remarkably well. While he ran the café, which now had a few people helping him out, Arthur stayed at home and in the span of six months had already completed his first book of a new series. His publisher was thrilled. It was a different sort of work altogether from his previous series, darker and more mature, but nonetheless pleasing. It was a story of a young Hungarian peasant girl and her adventures in a male dominated society. His publisher had asked him how he had gotten the inspiration and such amazing detail about the setting, but he just shrugged his shoulders. There were some secrets that he wouldn't give up.

So Arthur stayed at home, scribbling away at his next book, tending to his roses (one of the things that had endeared this house to him was the large garden), talking to Flutter and Flying Mint Bunny. Occasionally, he would get a craving for a cup of tea and he would head down to Francis' café. It wasn't like he missed him or anything; he just fancied a cup of good tea.

Evenings were peaceful, with homework and video games and books. After dinner, there was usually a fight over what program they'd watch on TV. Arthur and Alfred favored Doctor Who while Francis and Matthew liked some of the TV dramas that came on.

On the weekends, they went to visit Iain and Llyr. His brothers had surprisingly enough, taken to Francis instantly. They took their job as uncles very seriously and Arthur would never forget the moment when Iain had presented the boys with a kilt for their birthdays.

He passed by a picture of them at Antonio's wedding in the hallway. That had been a day to remember. Antonio and Lovino had a small wedding, made even more interesting by the appearance of their new friend Ludwig who was dating Feliciano, Lovino's little brother. Arthur grinned as recalled Lovino's 'fond' nickname for Ludwig. The potato bastard's older brother, Gilbert, had shown up too. It had been years since he had seen him. He still had his bird, which had promptly curled up in Matthew's hair and gone to sleep.

That reminded him, he needed to go down to the post office and send out some invitations. He had proposed to Francis; he and his fiancé (the thought alone made him unthinkably happy) had decided on a small wedding at home. A quiet affair with no frills, only friends and family.

Francis was almost ready to leave. He smiled indulgently at Arthur before beckoning him forward and fixing his tie. Arthur smiled sheepishly at him. "You're going to see your publisher again?"

"Hmm…" he hummed, trying to pull Francis back for another kiss. The man laughed, shoving him away playfully. "Later, after I get home."

"Alright, have a good day love." He turned locking the door behind him. But he didn't follow Francis immediately, leaning on the doorframe, gazing at him.

"I think we've done rather well for ourselves don't you Flutter?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Alright, how many of you thought I was going to kill Arthur? I was toying with it, and the original ending was a little more angsty, but I decided I wanted some fluff.

I can't believe this story is done. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, put this on story alert and favorite it. You guys rock! I'll be honest, I never thought my first Hetalia story would be FrUk, but the moment I heard France's 'Hon hon hon', I was hooked.

That's it for now! Every review counts to getting Iggy a cup of tea!


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